


Love is for Children

by Solo2814



Series: Peter Romanoff [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Amazing Spider-Man (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Ethics of Adoption, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mother-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 16:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solo2814/pseuds/Solo2814
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written to fulfill a prompt at Spider-Kink: http://spiderkink.livejournal.com/1612.html?thread=405068#t405068:</p><p>Natasha and Peter - It's not just a spider thing...</p><p>It's a mother-son thing.</p><p>Uncertain, but fierce Mama-Bear!Natasha and angst ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Warsaw, Poland - 1995

**Author's Note:**

> The is un'betaed, so mistakes ahead. This is also going off my personal headcannon that Richard and Mary Parker were agents of SHIELD before they retired with Peter.

**Warsaw, Poland -1996**

The hotel smelled moldy and stale but underneath was the metallic tang of blood. Natasha’s body still ached from the trauma of the delivery. With her minutes old son curled sleeping in her arms, she thought about the past few months.

No one at the Red Room had known she was pregnant when she left. Result of her last mission. When she missed her period twice, she had scheduled an appointment at a clinic. An appointment the mission required her to miss it. And the next one and the one after that. Finally she gave up, and waited for the inevitable.

She should get rid of him. Better to kill him now than to subject him to the hell that was the Red Room. Any child of hers would go no place else. But he looked so peaceful, cuddling against her. Her beautiful baby boy.

Tasha was never the sentimental type. Nobody lasted in this business if they were. But just looking at him, those tiny fingers, that perfect nose, she wanted him to have everything. Live to see those bright blue eyes mellow into her own emerald green or darken to his father's warm brown. Make him happy and never have him worry about a single thing. Give him the world and every star in the sky. To give him a real family and everything that came with it. Everything he deserved and she never had. Everything she could never give him. 

 

**BANG!**

The cheap hotel door splintered as it was kicked in, and a man and woman rush in guns drawn.

The Parkers, they had been after her for months. The baby started screaming at the top of his lungs. Tasha pulled the gun out of the nightstand, wrapping her free arm around her son. They both surveyed the scene, taking in Tasha and her son sitting on blood-stained sheets.

Richard stepped forward, lowering his gun, “Relax, we don’t want you. Where’s your handler?”

“Not here, Parker.” Tasha answered “He hasn’t been here for months.”

Mary spoke up now “Is it his?” She gestured at the child in Tasha’s arms.

Tasha bristled “He is mine.” She stated icily. “That’s all that matters.”

Richard holstered his weapon “Than we have nothing here. Let’s go Mary.”

As the couple turned to leave, they cast one last glance at the whimpering infant in Tasha’s lap.

“Wait.”

The Parkers looked at her, confused.

Tasha kneeled on the bedspread. “Take him.” She stated calmly, holding out the little bundle.

Confusion morphed into identical expressions of shock.

“I know about the miscarriage.” Tasha stated.

Mary stiffened slightly; Richard wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Five months past and still a touchy topic.

Tasha continued, “I know you. I’ve read your files. I know you were all set to retire with your baby after this mission.” She drew a breathe. “Take him, say he’s yours. No one will ever know the difference.” She offered the bundle again.

Mary took the baby, rocking gently to quiet his whimpering.

Richard leaned in to examine the boy’s face, touching one round cheek. He glanced up. “Why would up give him up?” he said accusingly.

Tasha stared at her hands, “I can’t have him live the life I lead. He didn’t do anything to deserve that.”

She looked up. Richard looked at her, something close to pity in his eyes. He nodded, and touched Mary’s arm.

She glanced between Tasha and the baby, than she nodded, too. Her face was full of a kind of cold joy. They turned to leave.

Tasha slumped into the bedding, exhausted.

Richard turned back to her one last time, “Does he have a name?”

Tasha hadn’t considered.

“Peter. His name is Peter.”


	2. SHIELD Helicarrier - North Altlantic, 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers Reassemble and get a new mission and Natasha senses trouble from her past.
> 
> Note: This chapter is much longer and still has no Beta. Anyone who'd like to step up, message me.

Natasha Romanoff stared at the sea that shimmered miles beneath her. This was the first time since the Invasion of New York that Fury had gathered all the Avengers together. The call was short, just the order to come in for debriefing. She and Clint had hopped the next transport to HQ and were now waiting for Fury to arrive. She could see the reflection of Steve’s nervous fingers in the widow. He couldn’t stop playing with his sketchbook.

“What do you think Director Fury wants anyway?” He asked the room.

“He probably wants to shoot us in space,” Tony didn’t even look up from his Starkpad, (patent pending). “Or invade Latveria. Something tedious and involving far too much paperwork.” 

Thor’s Golden eyebrows drew together, “You Midgardians have a strange idea of Tedium.”

“It’s probably just another press conference,” Bruce supplied, ever the voice of reason. Or at least the voice of hopefulness. “Lord knows, we done enough of those.”

“Tony’s done enough of those for all of us.” Clint corrected. “Fury won’t call the whole team together for trivia like that.” He put both hands on the table, hunching over, “It must be the WSC again. Why else would we be here?”

The WSC was still a sore spot with Clint. Even after they lost a big chunk of power after the whole Megaton Midtown incident, they had still managed to lock Clint in the Vault for three weeks until a friend of Bruce’s got him straightened out. On the plus side, Dr. Samson had made a fine addition to the SHEILD Psych Corps, once the Gamma Radiation poisoning cleared up and they got rid of all the canaries.

“Oh come on, Robin Hood,” Tony drawled, “Not everything is about you going over to the Dark Side.”

Clint glared at the Billionaire, who was still playing with his i...Starkpad. “What do you know, Mr. Consultant?”

“I’d wager,” Tony stated simply, “Considerably more than you.” Pointing at Clint, “And You,” Steve, “You, too.” Herself. “Maybe you,” Thor. “Not You.” Bruce.

Clint shoved it off. “You made know tech but you got nothing on politics. I think we all saw your Congressional testimony.”

“A brilliant display of our Corporate-Legal system, don’t you think?” He retorted.

The conversation was devolving into a snarking match. Natasha didn’t spare a glance for the five men in the room. She hadn’t said anything, not even to Clint. It just sounded so stupid and self-centered. Feelings aside, she was certain. From the moment Fury had called her, Natasha knew that one of her ghosts had come back to haunt her. The question was which one?  
The door at the head of the room swished out. Nat turned to face the assembled men. Clint and Tony were standing on the table again in the middle of an argument. Steve and Thor were quietly placing bets. Bruce had that looked like he didn’t know whether he wanted to Hulk out or jump off the Helicarrier. 

Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD, placed both hands on his hips and waited for the assembled superheroes calm down. The Clint and Steve quickly jumped into place. Tony slucked back into his chair, defeated and defiant in the way only Tony Stark can be. Nat sat primly nest to Thor who was smiling and counting a fistful of cash. Fury pinched the bridge of his nose. He had the tired, heavy-lidded look he usually got when something new decided it was time to wreck a little havoc.

“Glad to know the fate of the world rests in such competent team.” He observed.

He looked flatly at the six of them for a second than shook his head.

“I’ve called you here for something very important.” Fury stated,

“It’s the WCS, isn’t it?” Clint demanded, “If they’re threatening…” 

“Agent Barton,” Nick interrupted, “I understand your feelings but this has nothing to do with the WSC. I suppose you don’t all remember the supposed terrorist attack at Oscorp a few weeks before the Invasion?”

“Of course I do.” Tony drawled, grinning, “I always smile when I think about that. It couldn’t have happen to a nicer son of a bitch than Stormin’ Norman Osborn.”

“Well, you should be happier to hear no terrorist attack. It was a superhuman incident.” Fury drew a stack of photographs from the center of the file. “One that involved this man,” he passed half to Steve who took one and passed the rest on. “Dr. Curt Connors, one of the foremost experts in Trans-species genetics and” Fury passed the other photo around “the masked superhuman vigilante know as Spider-man.”

Natasha took a good look at the photographs. One showed a middle-aged man, blond, bespectacled, and missing his right arm. The other was a wiry figure, dressed in a garish red and blue full-body suit with wide shiny eyes. No prizes for guessing who was who.

Clint looked up at Fury, “So, What happened?”

“So, Connors injected himself with a formula that turned him into a giant fucking lizard.” Fury replied. “The SHIELD response team was all ready to go in when Connors got his ass handed to him by some than unknown Superhuman.” 

Fury waved a hand vaguely, “I was going to start an investigation but you all know what happened.”

The Avengers nodded. They couldn’t forget Loki’s Invasion; no matter how had some of them tried.

Fury continued “In the months after the Oscorp incident, Spider-man has been acting as the self-appointed guardian of New York City. You six are going to find him and bring him into SHIELD before he…”

“Makes SHIELD look inadequate.” Tony interjected innocently.

“Hurts himself…” Fury replied. “Or the police or one of the eight million of people in New York. We had one officer Dead and Thirty in the hospital after Oscorp. It took a good chunk of my not inconsiderable resources and public opinion to keep the NYPD from shooting him on sight.” 

He stood sharply, 

“Like it or not, Spider-man is the newest addition to the Avengers Initiate.” Fury slammed the file in his hand shut.

There was no room for argument. 

“Doctor Banner and Thor will stay back at the Field Command,” Fury continued, “I will not have the Mayor of New York screaming in my ear at three in the morning again. Romanoff, Barton, Rogers, and Stark will go in and drag him back here if you have to. He’s in Midtown Manhattan. Dismissed.”

There was a great scarping of chairs as the team left to put on their various combat gear. Natasha snuck a last look at the photos. Even though this had nothing to do with her, even if it was impossible, she still couldn’t shake the feeling this lead back to her.


	3. Midtown Manhatten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets into a couple fights and meets some new friends.

Midtown Manhattan

"How did my life end up like this?" Peter Parker thought as a blast of electricity came his way.

Six months ago he had been just a normal high school student. Well, just a relatively normal high school student. Past year? No such luck. Found a suitcase containing paranoid ramblings and genius scientific work by his long deceased parents. Check. Went looking into his parent’s rather untraceable past. Check. Met Dr. Connors, a scientific genius and family friend his Aunt and Uncle conveniently forgot to mention. Double check. Got SUPERPOWERS. TRIPLE check. 

Uncle Ben died? His fault. Fought a giant mutated lizard on a skyscraper. Totally been there, done that. Captain Stacy? Also his fault. Now here he was trying to stop a fashion challenged Bank Robber who had somehow gotten electric powers.

Peter landed on a water tower, next to the pressure release hose, 

“Seriously, out of all the names in the world, you chose Electro.” He drawled “Could you be any more obvious?”

Electro was practically foaming at the mouth at this point. “SHUT UP!” He shouted as he blanketed the roof with electricity. Peter grabbed the water hose, flipped off the tower, and blasted Electro with a high pressure stream. 

“AHHHHHHHHHH!” He shouted, throwing off sparks.

Peter landed next to the green and yellow clad robber and reached out before the tingling on the back of his neck told him not to touch. The water still crackled with electricity. 

“AHHHHHHH? Seriously?” He snarked, 

“You couldn’t just short out? Now how am I gonna get you to your nice comfy rubber cell?” Peter asked the unconscious body.

“Don’t worry about that.” A voice said behind him. “We’ll be taking both of you in.”

Peter spun around to see a blond man in a dark jumpsuit pointing a bow and arrow at him. The man was a complete mystery. The circular Eagle Patch on his shoulder looked familiar.

“And what if I don’t want to come in, Legolas?” Peter asked.

“Not gonna happen kid,” He smirked. “Peacefully or in pieces. Your choice.” The man drew back the bowstring, readying himself to fire.

Peter crouched and cocked his head, “I choose to…kick your ass.”

With that he leapt forward. The managed to loose three arrows, all of which Peter managed to dodge. He knocked the bow out the archer’s hands and then broke it for good measure. The man dropped down and  
pulled a knife out of his boot before taking several swipes at the young superhero. All missed and Peter punched him in the chest and knocked him flat.

“Now, now Hot Pants. Leave the nice man alone.” Peter spun around to see Tony Stark hovering a few feet away in his Iron Man suit.

Stark continued conversationally, “We only just got his brain back in working order.”

“You call that working?” Peter replied caustically.

“He’s government issue. What do you expect?”

“Come on, even the government can do better than that.”

“Budget cuts. They had to get him second hand from a circus.”

The man on the ground groaned “Will you quit with the jawing and grab the kid!”

Iron Man shrugged and blasted at Peter with a repulsor beam. Peter barely dodged it. He jumped off the rooftop, webbing away, Iron Man in hot pursuit. Peter swung left and right; Stark stayed right on his heels. Finally he swung a one eighty and pulled his web like a bungee cord. He sprang into the air and twisted to fall directly on the back of Stark’s suit. The Wall-crawler punched down and a panel came free, revealing wires and with worrley-bits attached. He examined it carefully as they began to fall.

“Well, this looks important.” He quipped, then he tossed it over his shoulder.

He shot a web out to a water tower and threw Stark down to safety. Stark got up on one knee and shot at Peter again. Peter closed the distance and grabbed both of Stark’s gauntlets, crushing them in his hands, and with one last kick to the head, Stark was down for the count right next to the bow and arrow guy.

“This day could not get weirder.” Peter said to the clouds.

An ice cold gun muzzle pressed to his spine. “Oh, it’s about to get so much weirder.” A female voice said behind him.

Peter spun to see The Black Widow holding the gun. She was smiling sweetly at him. Just the way Aunt May did when he had done something naughty and she had an extra special punishment. 

“You beat up my partner.” She said politely.

“I take it you’re the more photogenic of the couple?” Peter asked. 

She fired five times point-blank. Peter dodged every one.

“What was that for?” He demanded.

She reloaded her gun, “I told you - you beat up my partner.” She was scary calm.

Peter’s lips twitched under his mask. “Sure, when a grown man attacks a kid, the natural response is to try to kill said kid.” He replied offhand.

The Black Widow looked at him flatly. “When said child is a Meta-human with a precognitive sense, than shooting at him is no harm done.”

Peter cocked his head. “True.”  
And he swept his leg under hers. She jumped back and leveled her gun again. Peter jumped up and grabbed it, crushing it in his hand before tossing it away. Widow threw a couple  
punches his way. Peter dodged them, noticing the taser prongs built into her gloves. Peter flipped back and landed near the roof ledge. “Your stings I suppose.” He gestured at the gloves.

She smiled at him and twitched her head a little. An invitation to strike but Peter wasn’t biting. She ran at him and he dodged. Widow overshot it and almost went over the edge. Peter grabbed her quickly, and she swung a punch at his head. Spider-sense moved him out of the way with time to spare but he had to let go. As she fell off the edge, Peter rushed to try and catch her with his web line. There she was, sticking to the wall under the ledge, still smiling at him.

Peter glared at her. “Wall crawling’s my schtick, you know.” He jumped back as she flipped back on to the roof. “Can you say copyright infringement?”

“Sorry kid.” She settled into a ninja’s crouch. “I’ve been wall crawling since before you were born.”

Peter scoffed. “I doubt that, lady.” 

Widow smiled, “Since 1947?” She asked.

Peter was nonplussed. “Ninety-one. And you don’t look a day over seventy-five.”

She kicked at him and he pulled back, registering Electro, still sparking, out of the corner of his eye. A crazy, wonderful idea started to form. He pulled back, edging to the still crackling water. The Widow was too focused on trying to get past his Spider-Sense to worry about the terrain, so when she took her swing, Peter took his chance. A quick motion was all he needed to trap her wrist and push her into the puddle of water that held Electro. She connected for barely a second but it was enough. When he pulled her back, she was out cold. Peter dropped her limp body by her partner.

He looked up at the New York City Skyline and yelled, arms wide, “Well, I’m waiting. Come on. Send whoever else you want at me. I can take ‘em.”

The universe wasted no time.

“Well, son, I guess that would be me.” A male voice spoke.

Peter spun to face it and got an eye full of very gaudy red, white, and blue. Captain America was standing, shield raised and knees bent, ready for a fight. 

Peter walked right up to him, raised his fists, and collapsed limply on the ledge, head in his hands.

“I can’t do it.” He said ruefully. “I can’t beat up Captain America.” 

Cap plopped down next to him. 

“And why not?” He asked pleasantly.

Peter looked at him. “You’re like my favorite Superhero ever. I own every comic they ever printed about you.”

Cap looked genuinely embarrassed by this. 

“Plus the papers hate me too much already. If I beat you up, they’ll have a virtual lynch mob after me.” Peter added.

“Oh, you’re kidding me.” Stark had woken up. “Okay, group vote. Next time we have to apprehend a wayward superhero, we send in the big red, white, and blue Boy Scout first and see if they’re a fan.”

There was a mumble of agreement from the other two as they picked themselves off the ground. They all looked at Cap and Peter as they stood up and walked over, the man in the jumpsuit making a detour to grab his broken bow and stick it in his quiver.

Peter looked back at them, and said with feigned lightness, “Well, this is it. I have one request. When you reprogram me, please allow me to have a good chunk of my IQ. I’m not as good a fighter without it. And could you find a way for me to keep my sense of responsibility. It’s kind of important.”

All four adults looked at him like he was nuts.

Stark finally asked, “Are you serious?”

Peter slumped a little, “Don’t fool with me. I’ve heard of SHIELD. I know what you guys do to unregistered metahumans.” he said resigned. “You take them and you edit their brains until they work for you.”

Cap looked disturbed, Stark smug, bow man confused, and the Widow was twitching.

Cap began, “Kid…” 

A grunt from behind and a blast electricity flew at Widow. He didn’t think, just knocked her out of the way and took the full brunt of the blast. There was yelling and clanking but Peter could only descend into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to give a HUGE Thanks to my new Beta, Stormwind13. Give her a round of applause, people.


	4. The Trisculon Building, Medical Wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter finds out he doesn't know quite as much as he thinks about superheroes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally a longer chapter but I broke in two halves because it flowed better.
> 
> Another round of applause to Stromwind13 people.

**Manhattan - The Trisculon Building, Medical Wing**

When Peter Parker woke up, he was wrapped in soft warmth and blinded by the light.

“Oh, boy. It’s finally happened.” Peter thought. “My dangerous, reckless, incredibly stupid hobby has finally killed me. This is the perfect beginning to the week.”

Peter managed to sit up with a groan. His ribs were killing him. Blinking away the light spots on his eyes, he took in where he would be spending the rest of eternity. “Oh, crap. I’ve gone to Hell.” Staring back at him were six very shocked superheroes and a couple of guys that Peter just couldn’t figure out right now. This was so bad. He was so beyond dead, he couldn’t even begin to process this. He ran the hand not hooked up the IV drip through his short hair.

His hair.

He jumped and pulled the covers over his head.

“You took my mask off!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “You took my mask off! Why did you take my mask off?!”

He peaked out from the sheets when one of them cleared their throat. He was a stocky guy with black hair and glasses. He looked like some college biology professor. Not very Super Spyie.

“We, ah, had to make sure you were still alive.” He said hesitantly. “But we didn’t know you such a…”

He trailed off ineffectively.

“Squirt?” offered the bow man.

The professor looked under his glasses, “I was going to said young man but that works too.”

“I don’t need this.” Peter said exhausted. “I am a Straight A-Student. I work for a raving lunatic to help my Aunt keep the house. I have a girlfriend. I do super-heroics on the side.” He ticked off every point on his fingers. “I DO NOT NEED a bunch of shadowy government operated Supers knowing that I’m Peter Parker.” He finished at the top of his lungs.

Captain America considered at him with a faint smirk. “We didn’t know your name, son.”

Peter felt his face glow bright red with humiliation. Only one thing to do,

“So, this is where you do the brainwashing?” he babbled. “I always thought it would be more Late Frankenstein than this. Slimy, stone walls, Rusty metal tables with leather straps, you know the works. Or I’m I being stereotypical. I mean clichés like that just don’t go in today’s competitive mad-scientist market.”

Now one of the men Peter had previously ignored moved to center stage. Looking at him, Peter couldn’t see how he had missed him. Although, if there was one place where an armed six foot something black man dressed in head to toe black leather with an eye patch could be overlooked, it was in a room with a Norse god, a world famous genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist and the most decorated soldier who ever lived.

“Kid, I think you got some bad information.” He said seriously. “Why don’t you tell me where got the idea that we brainwash people?”

He somehow felt it would be a bad idea not to answer.

“It was about two, three weeks ago.” Peter frowned, “I was chasing some spy trying to steal missile plans. I caught up to him, and uh... kinda ripped his face off. He said SHIELD had experimented on him and if they caught me I would be in just as much trouble.”

Tony Stark let out a haughty scoff “And I thought you had more sense than to believe what comes out of a villain’s mouth.”

“What? D'ya think I'm an idiot?!” Peter scowled at him, offended, “It just got me thinking. So I started doing a little creative surfing. There about a hundred sites of ex-SHIELD employees saying everything from SHIELD runs super-soldier experiments to engineering the Great Recession. But the only one I could prove was the real deal was some guy named Sandhurst. He said that SHIELD gave him funding to create a mind control devices to create an army of obedient super-humans.”

Everyone in the room looked at the one-eyed man, who sighed, shoulders slumped.

“Basil Sandhurst did work for SHIELD.” He conceded. “He was also a mole for a terrorist organization called A.I.M. He used the funding we provided to brainwash half our staff. He’s in the Vault. And not supposed to have access to technology of any kind, especially computers.”

Another guy stepped forward. He looked like an Accountant In Black. “I’ll look into that Director Fury. Don’t worry.”

Eye-Patch, Director Fury, nodded and turned back to Peter. Peter for one was still a little wary of the whole thing. He was pretty sure that Fury could see it too.

“Believe me kid, if I could brainwash anyone, it would be the walking, talking migraine.” He jerked his head in Tony’s general direction.

“You’re only saying that because you care.” Stark grinned wickedly, “You’re safe, kid.”

An armored Avenger that could only be Thor nodded, “The Man of Iron speaks the truth. I did not trust SHIELD when I first meet them, but they are worthy allies.”

Cap and Bowman nodded in agreement.

Peter started to relax a bit “Then why did you send these guys after me?” he nodded to the assembled Avengers.

“You were kinda making a mess, kid.” The bowman piped up. “Someone has to teach to how to play the game.”

“What Agent Barton is trying to say,” The AIB stated, “is that SHIELD was going to make you one of the Avengers.”

He stopped and gave Peter a once over, corners of his lips turning down in a concerned frown.

“But we may have to rethink this, Mr. Parker.”

“Either way, you had better get some rest.” Fury said “We’ll figure something out when Medical clears you.”

He clapped a heavy hand on Peter’s shoulder. He looks up into Fury’s one brown eye.

“I know this is confusing but we really are the good guys here.” He pulled a tattered photograph from his pocket and hands it to Peter. “I hope this prove that.”

Peter drew the sheet up to his chin and leaned back into the hospital bed, eyes glued to the photo. His parents, much younger, standing ankle deep in golden sand in front of a jeep, smiling broadly. They we in desert camo; their arms were hooked around what looked like an equally young, two-eyed Fury. Peter looked back and forth between the photo and Fury. His head was spinning, though he wasn’t sure if it was the movement or the photo. Fury smiled at him; years of unspoken sadness were etched into his face.

“We’ll talk later.” He said, kindly.

Like that had flipped a switch, the electric buzz of adrenaline started to fade. His mind still spun with a hundred questions but his eyes felt like someone had attached lead weights to them. He gently slipped the photo under his pillow before his head hit it. The last thing he saw before he was out like a light was the Black Widow gently closing the door. She was the only one hadn’t spoken the entire time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is a homage to Ultimate Spider-Man # 44.


	5. The Avengers Tower/SHIELD MEDICAL

**The Avengers Towers - Penthouse**

It had become their habit. Every mission, every press conference, every time they were called together, they always had one last meeting before heading out. After New York, it was Shawrama, which had tasted like over-spiced mush to Natasha. Today, the whole team was winding down with drinks at the newly renamed Avengers Tower, while Tony tried to figure out what they all thought of their newest associate. Tony and Natasha were at the bar and the rest of the Avengers were draped over various pieces of furniture around the living room.

Clint spoke up first, raising his head from the chair he had collapsed on, “He’s an annoying, whiny, juvenile little prankster.”

He let his head drop back over the armrest. He had only had three shots and he was already seriously buzzed. The bump their new associate gave him didn’t help.

“You just don’t like him because he broke your shiny toys and your head.” Tony stated. “I like him.”

Clint pointed at the ceiling, “He broke your toys, too.”

Tony shrugged, “I know, but he broke your toys first. And he has a great sense of humor.”

Steve nodded. “He is a little rough around the edges, but he has a lot of potential. He beat three of us, with no training at all. And he has helped a lot of people.”

“I agree with Steve,” Bruce added, “Have you looked at his journals?” He held up one of the journals that SHIELD had appropriated from the Parker residence. “He has an incredible mind. He might even be smarter than his father and that’s saying something.”

Thor just shrugged, “I don’t know what to think of the young warrior. I did not have the chance to test his mettle, so I shall simply have to see.”

The rest of them looked at Natasha, waiting for her opinion on the young superhero, but she was glaring at her gin and tonic and wouldn’t look at any of them. She was lost in her own mind; her face was a featureless mask. She downed the drink in one gulp and picked up her car keys.

“We’ll wait and see.” She said as she walked to the elevator.

The rest of the Avengers watched her go. Clint was too out of it to notice her behavior. The rest didn’t understand her enough to know something was troubling her.

**Across Town – The Triskelion Building, Medical Wing**

The SHIELD medical center was practically deserted at this time of night, which meant that Natasha only had to sneak past three nurses, two doctors and six sentries. During the day, there would be three times that number. Fury didn’t want to lose his newest recruit to one of the numerous mob bosses and super-criminals he had somehow managed to piss off during his very brief tenure as a superhero, so he had stashed Peter deep in the base. Even so, it was almost childishly simple to disable the cameras in the hallway. She slipped into the room she wanted and saw her son lying still and quiet on the bed.

She hadn’t seen him since he was a just a few minutes old. Now sixteen years later, he had landed right back into her life. It had taken her all of three seconds to recognize him. She had practically had a stroke when Bruce had removed his mask. Feeling awkward, she smoothed a few strands of his dark hair before her hand rested on his cool forehead; his steady pulse beating in her sensitive fingertips.

“Athlete’s heart.” she thought idly.

She wondered if he always had that kind of heart or if his powers had strengthened it. She wondered how Peter got his powers in the first place. She had a hunch her time spent as the Red Room’s lab rat had a hand in it. Had Peter have these powers from the moment she gave him up? It was almost too convenient that the son of the Black Widow had all the strengths of one. Or had he spent more than fifteen years as an utterly normal child? What could have triggered them if he did?

“Why had he decided to become a superhero anyway?” She thought angrily. “What could be so important that he would risk his life for?”

She didn’t know why. She did know anything about him. Did he play football or run track? Or was more the academic type? She had repeatedly tried to forget about him; in her line of work, sentiment of any kind was enough to get you killed. If she had hesitation every time a child was involved, she’d have been dead a dozen times over already.

And yet late at night, defenses beaten down by her missions, she would look up the Parkers, scrounging for the barest details of his life. There was little enough to find: a school, a home address, a short article about time he accidentally blow up his elementary school gym during a science fair gone wrong, and two pieces about his parent’s disappearance and his uncle’s murder. She knew what happened to the Parkers on their final mission. It was no great secret around SHIELD though she doubted Peter himself knew.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and carefully examined his face, gently stroking one cool cheek. He didn’t look much like either of the Parkers; he didn’t look much like her either. He was much darker and had a stronger chin and cheekbones. His mahogany hair was thick and wavy, not board straight, like Richard, or red, like her or Mary. His eyes were hers, round and huge, but colored a smooth, depth-less brown. The full, pouty lips that graced his face were completely different from Richard's thin mouth or Mary’s wide smile. Peter was very much his father’s son.

Her heart caught on the memories of him. Yasha was probably the one person she never stopped loving. Her steady rock in the hell of the Red Room. She wondered how he would feel about his son fighting crime. She wondered how he would feel about having a son at all. It wasn’t something they chatted about between missions. Back then, the present was the only thing they could bear to see.

She felt something wet drip onto her cheeks; she touched it and realized it was tears. For the first time in years, since before she was a child, the Black Widow, the Ice Queen of the Red Room, was crying. And she couldn’t make it stop. She curled around herself like a protective shell and wept silent bitter tears. Her heart felt heavy, sore and swollen. It was stupid to feel this way. He wasn’t her son. Mary was his real mother; his Aunt was more his mother than her. Even Fury, who had not seen Richard, Mary, or Peter since Somalia, had more of a right to be a parent than her. Natasha was just a stranger, and no amount of blood could change that.

That didn’t stop her from seeing pieces of herself in the arch of his brow and the set of his mouth. It didn’t stop the memories of her swollen belly that played back in her mind’s eye. She had spent hours with hands resting on it, feeling him kick at the walls that had trapped him. It hadn’t stopped the feeling she had always gotten alone in a crowd or near sleep in her apartment. That maybe if she turned the next corner or opened her door, he would be there, waiting for her, for his mother.

She roughly wiped away her tears and got up from the bed. What had happened to him during his life was a black hole. The reasons for his behavior were a mystery to her. There was one thing she did know. He was her son, her only child, and she would do everything in her power to protect him. She was at the door when something made her stop. Almost without thought, she went over and pressed a kissed onto his forehead.

“Good night.” She murmured as she left the room as quietly as she had come.


	6. Avengers Tower, New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Natasha have a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Block officially sucks like a vacuum cleaner but its over now so here's the new chapter. It's a little long but hope you like it. And another round of StormWind13.

**Avenger's Tower, Manhattan, New York**

Natasha swayed back and forth in time with some horrible instrumental version of a pop song. Seriously, Stark was always bragging he had more GNP than Belgium; He couldn’t afford real music in his elevators? Maybe it was a counter-invasion tactic. Make enemy’s eardrums explode before they reach the top floor. The elevator dinged and Pepper walked in, looking calm and collected as usual.

Natasha gave a small smile to the executive. She had always had a great respect for efficiency and Pepper Potts was as efficient as them come. Pepper’s smile was only a little awkward. Saving Tony’s ass a dozen times during the Battle of New York had made up for manipulating her way into the company. Barely. The CEO fumbled for something to fill the uncomfortable silence. She caught sight of the bag in Nat’s hand.

“What’s that?” she asked, polite.

“Lunch for me and Peter,” Nat hefted the bag, “I think Tony’s trying to make him into a mini-me.”

Pepper snorted. Tony had really taken a shine to the youngest Avenger. He had been officially inducted into the Science Bros, Stark’s genius only club with Bruce, Jane and Hank. Peter had picked up their nasty habit of skipping meals.

“What is it anyway?” Pepper asked, still examining the bag.

“Subs from Mancini’s.” Nat replied and allowed a small smirked to cross her lips. “Best in the city. None of that Subway crap.”

She almost laughed at Pepper’s stunned expression. “You thought I only ate Borsht or something?”

Pepper’s lips pressed together to keep in the obvious yes. She was saved from answering when elevator dinged again. The smooth metal doors swung open to revealing their destination, the special R&D Floorreserved for “the Science Bros.” It was a disaster zone again. Pepper shook her head and quickly headed left, destined for Tony’s lab, shirting a fallen I-Beam and some hissing wiring. Nat headed in the opposite, which mercifully, was slightly less damaged.

* * *

 

Peter was sitting on a table in loose tailor’s seat. He checked the Erlenmeyer flask bubbling before him.

“JARVIS, Can you bring up the new formula?” he asked the AI.

“Of course, Micro-Master.” JARVIS answered promptly.

He felt his eye twitch at the nickname. Tony swears up and down that JARVIS was the one to come up with it. Then again Tony also swears he didn’t release that bucket of invisible hamsters onto the Helicarrier. He had to think of something to do about this. Maybe he should find a way to hack the building so that it blared show tunes every time Tony entered a room. Or maybe he could just shave off Tony’s famous Goatee in his sleep. He was sure which would annoy Pepper less. A small knock interrupted Peter’s Grand Schemes of Revenge.

Natasha was leaning on the door to the lab. One hand was propped on her cocked hip; the other held a plain brown bag. She definitely hadn’t come off a mission. Not with that dewy, fresh face and totally not destroyed clothing. Her flame red hair was extra curly today. A small smile graced her ruby red lips. She was very beautiful. Sometimes, Peter thought about asking her out. Then he remembered he already had a girlfriend. And Natasha was in her eighties.

“So, you were behind that explosion earlier.” Nat said lightly.

Peter frowned, startled, “That was hours ago. You’re just checking that out now?”

“I live with three of ex-soldiers, two mad scientists, and a thunder god.” Nat remarked, “I’m used to explosions. I came because it’s lunch time.” She hefted the paper bag.

“You came to give me lunch.” Peter said slowly. “Why?”

It seemed that no amount of Super-Spy training could stop your cringe reflex.

“You’ve been spending a week straight with Stark and Banner,” She stated, slow and deliberate. Her tone was forcefully light. “and I know you’re going on patrol with Steve tonight. The last thing you need is to start skipping meals.”

Peter looked at her suspiciously for a minute. Why the hell would the Black Widow bring him lunch? She seemed to sense his curiosity and was uneasy with it. The barest twitch of the lips gave her away. Than his stomach growled and he remembered he really was hungry.

“Well, I know Matt will have a heart attack when I show up with Captain America.” He grinned and waved her over “And I own him for always sneaking up on me.”

Nat relaxed, by which, he meant she slumped a millimeter, and walked over as he cleared off a space on the counter. She eyed the containers of chemicals and long streaks of ash that covered the walls.

“Is it clean?” she asked doubtfully.

“Clean enough.” Peter answered.

Her nose scrunched, but the bag came down. She started tearing at the seams to make a placemat for lunch: two foot longs, a bag of Salt and Vinegar Chips, and two bottled drinks. He grabbed one of the sandwiches and started unwrapping.

“I have to admit. When I sold my soul to a shadowy extra-governmental organization, I expected there to be more black-op assassinations and torturous experiments.” Peter stated.

The Black Widow shook her head, another of her small smiles on her lips. “I know. My first month at SHIELD, I keep expecting to wake up in four-point restraints with someone poking at my brain.” Nat shrugged.“As menacing as Fury tries to be, he’s really just a big softy.”

Peter nodded, and took a bit of the sub. He hummed with pleasure. Some kind of spicy/savory meat and sweet BBQ sauce flooded his mouth. It crunched and munched just right when he chewed it.

“izz’s great.” He said around his mouthful. “What’s in this?”

“Sausage and Peppers. I have to get one whenever I’m in the city.” She smiled and started unpacking her own sandwich, “and don’t talk with your mouthful.”

Peter nodded absently. He grabbed the bag of chips and popped it open one handed. Fishing out a handful, he started layering it onto his sandwich.

Nat raised an eyebrow at him, “Not many people like the Salt and Vinegar kind.”

Peter shrugged, “Some people also think that Mutants are trying to enslave the world and that artificial sweetener is a mind control agent planted by the Soviets.”

“We only tell them that so they never check the MSG,” Nat stated gravely. “Everyone knows that the government runs on coffee and takeout.”

Peter stared at her, mouth hanging open.

“Did you just make a funny?” he asked disbelieving.

Natasha smirked and grabbed her juice and took a long drink, prim and lean as a pure-bred cat, “You think I don’t have a sense of humor?” She teased.

“I didn’t think robots could joke.” He deadpanned back.

Nat’s calm demeanor cracked. Loud, harsh cough echoed off the walls as her lungs tried to force the apple juice out. Peter cringed with every hack.

“What. No. I mean, I didn’t, I didn’t, I, I, I…” He stuttered until Natasha smacked him across the knee. One pale red eyebrow was raised in a question.

He understood, “You demand an apology, I grovel at your feet.”

“No, it’s okay,” She shook her head, and tapped the screen with a finger nail. “What are you working on?”

Peter was glad for the excuse. “New web fluid.”

He enlarged the diagram. “Twice durability and strength for half the cost,” boasting a little.

She looked it over, eyes moving too quickly to really be studying it. “Bruce help you with this?”

He opened his mouth to deny it, only to have her throw him that look. The “Don’t lie to me, Young Man” everybody seemed to learn after they turn forty.

“Hank.” He conceded, than smiled, “I always wanted to meet him. He’s a genius.”

Nat raised her eyebrows again. Seriously how did her forehead stay so smooth after eighty years of eyebrow raising.

“Hank’s nice but he’s no Tony Stark.” She said, all little girl innocence. “How do you know about him?”

Peter so wasn’t fooled. “Bout September ‘08, he published this amazing paper on manipulation of insect DNA to create cheap high volume biodegradable bandages. It was amazing.”

Shock streaked across her face fast as lighting, “You read a paper from the eighth smartest person in the world when you were eleven? Moi Bezi, why didn’t your Aunt and Uncle send you to one of those genius schools?”

“M3 is the best scientific public school in New York State!" Peter stated angrily.

She raised her hands in surrender, "I'm not trying to say they were bad parents. I..."

"I know what you mean. My Aunt and Uncle,” He shrugged, “They said those schools were Government Zombie factories.”

She was still displaying more emotion than he’d seen for three weeks as shock and concern mixed.

“The US doesn’t have an Undead Warfare program. Try Bulgaria.” She stated blankly.

“Bulgaria.” Peter said slowly, and shot her a questioning look, “Why would Bulgaria?”

She glared at him again. Oh

“Right. Sorry.” He said quickly. “I mean those schools make their students spend all their time studying and experimenting. There aren’t any dances or parties.”

“Or kids who dress up in bright red and blue spandex and fight crime.” She supplied.

“Or that.” He admitted, “They wanted me to have fun, make out with a girl under the bleachers, and get drunk on trash can punch, not aspire to be a neurotic android that can’t function outside a lab.”

“They wanted you be normal.” She said, tentative. Something warred under her porcelain mask.

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Time to laugh it off. “It didn’t work out so well, huh.”

“I don’t know. It worked for a little while.” A small smile tugged at her lips again. “And you’re better adjusted than ninety-nine percent of SHIELD.” The smile disappeared as quickly as it came. “They must have loved you a lot. Most schools would pay a fortune to have a certified super-genius under their roofs.”

“We had money. Not a lot but it was enough. It was just after Uncle Ben died that I started.”

“Whoring yourself for the Daily Bugle.” She smiled.

That one was totally a joke. At least he hoped it was.

“I wasn’t going to put it quite like that.” He said weakly.

She flinched visibly.

“I’m sorry. It was…”

Peter held up a hand, “I got one, you got one. Let’s forget it ever happen.”

“Alright.” She threw out both her hands, trying to clear the air of all the bad jokes. “We’ll just stay on the safe topic of how you’re trying to change the world.”

Peter smiled back. “Well, I don’t know about the world but Tony and Hank have been helping me upgrade my suit.” He flicked his fingers across the folder that held his new costume. “Lots of Bells and Whistles.”

Nat smiled sweetly as she started eating again. “Tell me all about them.”


	7. Somewhere above Time Square – Manhattan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The famous Parker Luck Strikes again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm sorry about the previous verious of the chapter. When I read it over the ending kinda sucked, so I rewrote it. Enjoy The New Revised Chapter 7.

**Somewhere above Time Square – Manhattan**

It was widely known that the city streets and bright lights of New York City were only a small fraction of the Big Apple. The five boroughs are a maze of sewers, back alleys, and skyways. While most tourists only saw glittery signs and posh boutiques, most New Yorkers saw the hustlers and cruddy bodegas. It was less known that even buried in scum, there are a few sweet places that only the familiar could find. Peter was more familiar than the average New Yorker.

  
He had found this little spot while resting up from the super-powered-freak-of-the-week. It was just a little maintenance nook, weathered and abandoned but stable, big enough for two kids and a blanket and a perfect view of 42nd street. In the darkening twilight, the lights of Time Square sparkled like a Milky Way. Just the place for a teenage getaway.

“She brought you lunch.” Gwen Stacy, his perfect, loving, gorgeous, why-is-she-dating-me girlfriend, stated, dumbfounded.

“It was just lunch, Gwen.” Peter said defensive. “What does that compare to a romantic starlight dinner?”

He gestured at the expansive feast laid out before them.

“Okay. First, hot dogs, grapes and processed cheese spread does not a romantic dinner make.” Gwen continued, oddly calm, “Second. She brought you lunch. And you ate it. Together. While you snarked at each other.”

Peter felt the corner of his lips twitch, “You seem really focused on lunch and not the fact that the fact that I am now on the Freaking Avengers.”

Pale gold eyebrows rose to the heavens, “On the Avengers?” She asked.

“Almost on the Avengers.” He conceded, “Just give it a year or two.”

“I’m sorry,” Gwen smiled, sweet and sly, blue eyes sparkling, “But my boyfriend is a teenage boy and he was having lunch with, Oh,” She crossed her legs primly and put her finger to her chin as she considered

Natasha Romanov’s relative hotness, “Maxim’s Third Sexist Women on the Planet.”

He shrugged, “I thought she’d get higher than that but I guess they took points off for being able to kill you with her eyelashes.”

Gwen glared at him, waiting. Then his brain caught up to his mouth. Again. Dimmit.

“Yeah, well,” Peter tried to recover, “if Maxim saw you, she’d be the um, the,” He struggled to come up with a suitable number, “the eighth sexist woman.” He stated finally.

“I think you’re missing a few numbers, Genius Boy.” Gwen rapped her knuckle on his head gently, as if she were trying to realign his brainpan.

“No, you see once they see you, they’ll have to come up with a whole new way of rating Sexy.”

No such luck.

He could feel the blood cooking in his face. Gwen’s look was pure What Did You Just Say. He was so dead. Her head bent under the utter terribleness of what he just said. Her shoulders started to shake violently.

Cringing internally, he touched her shoulder.

“Gwen” he started to apologize.

Gwen tumbled to the blanket, her face twisted as she fought silent laughter and lost. Her laugh was the best in the world, a light tickling little sound that made his chest feel like it was being filled with helium.

“They’ll think I’m that sexy.” She giggled as she struggled to her knees.

Peter was grinned now. He leaned in and cupped her face, “Well, I think you’re that sexy.”

She smiled back at him, eyes sparkling with delight “Good answer”

Her head rested in his palm as she considered him. It never ceased to amaze him how fragile bodies felt to him now. He ran sensitive fingers across her cheek, feeling strong bone and muscle like eggshells ready to crack.

Carefully, Gwen shifted her weight, palms resting flat on his thighs

“And just for that,” She whispered as leaned closer. “I got a little present for you.”

The next words were just a honey sweet whisper on his lips. “Close your eyes.”

His eyes snapped shut. His brain was long past functioning anyway. It was all he could do to wait for whatever came next. An ice cold something sprayed across his mouth, sending pins and needles across his lips. His tongue came out to taste the sticky liquid. Peppermint hit his taste buds like atomic bombs. He glared accusing at Gwen, while she slipped her breath spray back into her purse.

“Your breath stank.” She stated simply.

Peter was about to argue when her mouth collided with his and he tumbled back under the sudden weight. She held him there for what felt like minutes while her lips, tongue, and teeth explored his mouth. He nearly gasped for air when Gwen pulled back.

“What are you doing?”

“Marking my territory.” Her eyes silently asked if he cared.

This time it was his mouth that met hers. Her hair fell across his face as he kissed her. He could feel Gwen’s hands slip under his shirt and run fingers over toned muscles. Their legs were tangled as they wrapped around each other.

A noise like nails on glass shattered the silent of the small platform.

Peter tumbled, half on top of Gwen, in his haste to reach his backpack.

“Why now?” he groaned

Gwen sat up, peeved “What’s that?”

“My Aunt May Warning system,” He sighed, resting his head against the cool stone. “If I’m not back home in twenty minutes, I’ll be grounded till Senator Kelly frenches Magneto.”

He quickly pulled his costume out of his backpack and started to strip out of his street clothes.

“Peter,” Gwen questioned “Do you ever stop and actively think about what you’re going to say before you say it?”

“What?” he looked up from fastening his web shooters.

Gwen graced him with a small tired smile as she pulled the picnic together and stuffed into her bag. “God, I need brain bleach to date you.”

“I don’t look that bad.” He preened, chest bare to the waist.

Gwen rolled her eyes and roughly shoved his spandex shirt over his head. “Come on,” she smoothed out the bunches. “I can catch a cab from your house. I need to talk to your Aunt anyway.”

“Righty O” Peter quickly pecked her on the lips and pulled down his mask. Gwen wrapped her arms tight around his waist. With a deep breath, they launched themselves into the New York City Sky.

* * *

**Forest Hills, Queens**

Peter walked down the street, hand in hand with Gwen. They had traveled by web several times before and had the routine down cold. If he didn’t drop Gwen off at her apartment, they would land a block or two from his house and walk the rest of the way. It was nearly ten and the streets were deserted as far as he could see.

His house was just up ahead, the lights still on, which meant that Aunt May was waiting for him. He wished she wouldn’t worry about him so much, since the last year had been incredibly trying for her.

“Stop.”

“What?” Peter glanced at Gwen.

“You know what. Now come on.” She tugged him up the steps to his doorway. “You can’t fix everything.”

 _“I’d settle for fixing my mom.”_ He thought as he opened the door.

Peter stepped inside and kicked off his shoes. Gwen was right behind him. Some obnoxious late night comedy show playing in the living room. It wasn’t the type of thing Peter or Aunt May usually watched but whatever. The volume turned up all the way so it could be heard in the kitchen. Gwen flipped off the set while he headed in that direction.

“Hey, Aunt May,” He started, then stopped. It was completely empty and Peter glanced around. The kitchen was a small space and his Aunt was not one for curling up in cabinets.

“She must be in the bathroom.” He thought, already turning to leave. The electric teapot started to whistle. He walked over to unplug it and felt his heart stop.

Aunt May was on the floor, her face white as a sheet and eyes glassy.

Every fiber of his body wanted to run, scream, call Gwen, an ambulance, anything.

But he couldn’t.

Every drop of air froze in his lungs, burning, heavy, greasy. Like he'd swallowed blazing oil.

Worlds swam before his eyes, colors melting and running together.

The woman lay on top of her husband, long salt and pepper hair mingling with crimson slick.

Eyes, glassy and dead or shut tight in pain. An unblinking stare. Thick glasses cracked by the force of a gunshot.

Peter finally wrenched his foot back and slipped.

The floor was slick and scalding. He brought his hands to his face. They shimmered red in the soft kitchen light.

Blood. His hands were covered in blood.

His Aunt and Uncle's blood.

His Parent's blood.

He had to get it off. It was everywhere. On his hands, face, clothes.

He lounged, grabbing a towel. Scrubbed at his hands. At the blood.

They wouldn't come clean.

Off in the distance a man was calling an ambulance.

Or was it a girl?

Someone was yelling in his ear.

What did they want?

Couldn't they see he needed to get the blood off?

Soft hands shook him. Words buzzed around his ears.

All he could see was the blood. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. Darkness crept across his world. Swallowing it like a fire devouring paper.

_Don’t die, Mommy. Please don’t die_


	8. North Shore Univerity Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has more problems than he can handle.

**North Shore University Hospital, Forest Hills, Queens**

The rain pelted against the ground, rising again as a humid, muggy cloud. It had been pouring since midnight and the city was drenched to the bones. A single black town car sloshed through the overflowing streets as Harry Osborn sat hypnotized as block after block of dirty, broken down apartments. It was barely dawn and sleep still pulled at him. The driver pulled into the hospital parking lot with practiced efficacy.

“Wait here.” Harry winced as the order came, quicker and shaper than he meant it.

If the driver was offended, he didn’t let on. A small tip of the hat was the only thing that distinguished him from a wax statue. Harry left the man to the radio and AC while he opened the door into the stifling air.

He pulled at his hood as he hurried into the entrance. The rain poured over him like a tepid, sticky shower, but it was worse when the doors slid open and the air conditioned space of the hospital atrium washed over him. All these places looked the same; Puke greens and tans that are supposed to make you relax. Doctors and nurses who simpered and comforted one minute then laughed behind their patients’ backs. Patients who listened to the nonsense that fell from their mouths like they were the voice of Gods. It brought up a flood of memories, endless months of waiting, hope and despair, and made bile rise in his throat. Harry pulled his coated tighter, a barrier between him and the grubs in white coats.

At this hour, Cardiac Intensive Care was a ghost town. The monitors beeped out of sync as many lives crashed together in discord. One bored looking nurse manned the station a steaming cup of something in her hand.

Harry cleared his throat. “I’m looking for a patient?”

She didn’t even glance up. “Name?”

“May Parker.”

The tap-tap-tap of computer keys and the nurse pulled up the file, “Are you family?”

Harry glanced over his shoulder hoping for Peter to pop up behind him. “Actually I’m looking for…”

“Harry.” The voice was thick and rough but unmistakable.

“Peter,” Harry ran to hug the other boy. Peter felt like glass, stiff and brittle, in his arms. “I just got Gwen’s text.”

Peter’s brown hair was limp and greasy. There were bags under bags on his swollen eyes. Harry shuddered. Seeing Peter like this, reminded him of his own horror. His father, a stone man who never bent or broke, wheeled out of their home by the EMTs, blood pouring from his nose and mouth.

“I’m fine.”

He wasn’t. You can’t come this close to losing the only family you have left and be fine.

“So,” Harry hesitated for a moment. He still remembered when Dad thought he was dying and people would interrogate him about the gory details. “Is she okay?”

“Ugh, um… Yeah.” Peter was jittering, hopping from foot to foot. “They said, something about an anemic or iscimic something.” He exhaled, “Stress related.”

Now he understood. Peter had a guilt complex for as long as Harry had known him. If he found a way to blame himself for Pearl Harbor, he would. Harry pulled Peter into another hug. Words would never convince Peter this wasn’t his fault so Harry just tried to press every ounce of acceptance and understanding into the brittle boy in his arms.

“You talked to the Social Worker yet?”

“No, I don’t know what I’m going to say to her.”

“Don’t worry,” the redhead broke out in a broad grin. “I already talked to Dad. You can move in with us.”

Peter looked dazed. Harry could understand. It wasn’t every day you could move from a cracker box in Forest Hills to a Park Avenue penthouse.

“That’s okay. Right?”

“Okay?” Peter hesitated, still processing the offer, than nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay. Listen, I just need to stop off at home first. Pack up.”

Harry wrapped an arm around his best friend. “Alright, I can drop you off. The car’s down in the lot.”

Harry grabbed Peter’s hand and led him out of the hospital.

“It’s gonna be great.” He said to the brunet over his shoulder, “We’ll be just like brothers.”

**The Avenger’s Tower – Manhattan**

Pepper loved the smell of rain drying.

It was a sweet, almost lilac scent. There was nothing better than savoring it over a cup of early coffee and the sounds of New York gearing up for the day. It made the hours of wrangling super-geniuses and board members that lay ahead of her look a little easier. If she could bottle it, she’d be a millionaire. Well, she already was a millionaire but she should still look into that.

A red and blue blur dropped on to the roof, sending pigeons scattering as the newest Avenger stumbled to a stop and braced himself against the outside wall of the tower. He must have swung here at top speed. It wasn’t even seven in the morning. Pepper wiped up her spilt coffee as she waited for him to tell her the dire emergency.

“I’ve got a problem.” Peter pulled off his mask, revealing a haggard and sweaty face. “Big, big, Very big problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long for me to update. College is just like high school except you have to do more papers.


	9. Avengers Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nat makes a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I haven't abandoned this Fic. I have felt the pain of falling in love with WIPs and I will not leave you guys hanging. 
> 
> Come hell or chronically disappointing math grades, I will finish this.

**Avengers Tower – Manhattan, New York**

  
The Avengers and SHIELD agents stood in one of Tony’s spaciously appointed office spaces, gawking at the teenage superhero. Despite the early hour, Natasha felt full of steel hard and lightning. Peter had just spent the past half hour explaining what had happened to bring him to the Avengers in such a panic.

“You’re being adopted by your arch-enemy.” Clint settled back into the couch with a smirk. “Sounds like something out of a soup opera.”

Peter was less than amused, “I didn’t come here for witty retorts. I came for help.”

He hadn’t sat down or even changed out of his costume since he landed on their roof. Instead he paced back and forth, brown eyes pleading with each of them. His hands fluttered in nervous circles around his head.

“I mean its Norman Freaking Osborn.”

“Peter” Agent Coulson began, genuinely sympathetic.

The teenage superhero plowed right over him. “He’s a sadistic, sociopathic Baron Zemo wanna-be.”

“Kid!” Fury spoke at last, practically yelling. His annoyed expression was quickly replaced with one of deep regret and disgust.

“There’s nothing we can do about this.”

The Avengers muttered in shock and stared at the director. Peter stopped dead in his tracks. Fury’s eye roamed over each of their faces than came to rest on Peter. His face sagged as he spoke words that chilled Nat to the bone.

“I wish to God that I wasn’t saying this but Norman Osborn is clean.”

“You can’t be serious.” Steve’s blue eyes boiled with rage as he came to stand before Fury. “He’s responsible for hundreds of deaths.”

The director stood his ground against the ball of righteous fury that was Captain America.

“Oh Really,” The sarcasm dripped from his words, “Do you have a name, Captain Rogers? A murder weapon? Or any connection to Mr. Osborn?”

“He extorted millions in government contracts by faking a terminal illness.” Steve argued right back.

“And the doctor doing fifteen to life for poisoning him had nothing to do with that.”

Steve snorted. “That’s a lie.”

“According to the Internet.”

“And your own team!” Steve’s voice was low and soft but there was an undercurrent of tension, like a piano wire about to snap. “You can’t actually believe that crap! You know what happened. That SON OF A BITCH's killed, mutilated, and terrorized hundreds and he tried to dissect Peter TWICE!”

“I’m telling you what Osborn, his wife, his son, his COO, and his team of a hundred GODDAMN lawyers will tell you if he’s confronted with this!”

Nat ignored the men and focused on the teenager. Peter stood against the wall as the two men argued. His brown eyes were glazed over from stress and hopelessness. The sight made her heart constrict with fear. Peter would be living with Norman Osborn, a man who could and would kill him without a second thought if he found out who Peter really was. The mere shadow of that threat was enough to bring her to her feet.

“Are you the Director of SHIELD or Not?!” Natasha hissed at him, green eyes cold and hard as ice. “Just take him out of the house.”

The black man turned away from Rogers to confront his only female Avenger.

“And what would you like me to say, Agent Romanoff?”

“Hello Mr. Osborn,” His voice adopted a sing-song quality. “We’ll just be taking away the genius orphan you adopted out of the goodness of our heart, probably to raise him as a totally loyal super-agent. Oh and we’re tapping your phone.”

“He’d have to be a lot younger for that.” Clint supplied unhelpfully.

She glared at him around Fury’s back. His typical smirk slid off his face, replaced with thoughtful worry. She couldn’t process that right now. Her eyes were on Fury again in an instant.

“Since when does image count for shit.”

Fury’s eyebrows climbed up his bald head.

“Agent Romanoff, I swear you of all people…”

“Hello, Spy people.” Tony interrupted them, not for the first time. “I may be stating the obvious, but since I’m a Super-Genius, I’m going to state it anyway. Normikins can’t get at our favorite pain in the ass if a blood relative is willing to take custody.”

He presented a Starkpadd to Fury as if it were a Holy Grail.

“So why not just get one of these lovely relations to come get our little waif?”

Fury didn’t even look at the Pad. “Ninety percent of these people are dead.”

Tony shrugged at the news, dismayed but not defeated. “You only need one.”

The Black man’s glare hardened at that.

“And the only one still alive is a seventy-four year old fourth cousin living in a retirement home in Perth, Scotland.”

That stopped the genius for a moment. His eyebrows drew together as he analyzed the situation.

“Well that might be a problem.”

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose, plainly exhausted with the whole business.

“You think I didn’t check on his family situation before I let him hang out with you idiots!”

Fury turned to Peter. “There is nothing we can do right now without raising suspicions, so for now we do nothing.”

He turned to leave the room than stopped. Gently, he laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder, trying to reassure the teen hero.

“We will get you out of there as soon as we can and we’ll keep an eye on you until we figure something out,” The order was gentle, almost kind. “But for now you can’t do anything that will give away the game.”

“No Spider-Man.” Coulson supplied, trying to be helpful and failing miserably, “Or trips to the Avengers Tower.”

“Okay,” the word came out flat and distant.

Peter himself stared off into space. There was no indication that he had actually heard the Coulson or Fury other than his quiet voice. His face was appeared to be blank but Nat knew the better. She could see the hope crumbling beneath his skin; the look of utter despair that only came when you threw yourself at the feet of your savior and saw them turn on you. The memories felt like girt in her teeth and her heart, rubbing her raw.

She couldn’t stay in this room. Fury was only a little was down the hall; it was easy to catch up to him. Her hand caught Fury’s sleeve.

“Director, please if you actually care about Peter….”

“Agent Romanoff,” He cut her off mid-sentence; slapping her hand away and pointing back to Peter, “I care about that boy more than you could ever imagine.”

_Yes. I can._

The thought bubble in her mind demanding release but she swallowed it and listened as the director spoke.

“I have considered every possibility, every action we could take and the reaction Osborne will have. This is the only thing that has a possibility of success.”

The mask of indifference slid across his face as he stared at her.

“Did you understand Agent Romanoff?”

Her head nodded mechanically. Fury scowled at her, but relented and left without another word.

“You don’t like this either.” She jumped as Steve came up behind her. “Fury’s dumping the kid in a monster's den with no way to get him out."

She nodded in agreement, “Too much could go wrong. There has to be a better way.”

“I can’t see any way without his help.” He replied with a tired smile.

“We could kidnap him.” The Spy suggested, half-serious. “Make a run for Bolivia or Jakarta.”

A soft laugh fell from the soldier. She knew it was ridiculous too. If SHIELD could find Steve buried under thirty feet of ice in the Arctic, they could find her and Peter in a heartbeat.

“See ya, Nat.”

The Captain left her then, alone with her heavy heart.

* * *

Peter had his own rooms at the Avenger’s Tower. It was a place to put all the things he couldn’t risk his aunt finding: battle souvenirs, information on new super criminals, designs for his quote-unquote Spider-Tech. It was organized in a way. She had seen him dash around the room with purpose, pulling out what he needed without a moment wasted. But as she tore the room apart looking for what she needed, Natasha couldn’t see the rhyme or reason of it.

  
The spy had thought about it for hours, weighing every option. The best, the only solution, she had come up with had lead her here, searching for an infuriatingly small object. A knock startled her away from the desk drawer. Clint stood in the doorway, eying what she had done to the mostly neat room.

“Well?” she demanded. There was for too much to do and not enough time for her to do right now.

“Well what?” Clint mimicked her tone and pitch.

He was being juvenile, the way he always was when he was trying to figure her out. When she didn’t answer, he switched tactics. His face softened as he approached her.

“Nat, I know you.” His hands began to rub her arms, trying to sooth her raw nerves. “You’ve never been so gung-ho over a new recruit.”

She didn’t have time for this. “He has a lot of potential. The balance of speed…”

“Nat, for God’s sake,” The interruption came before she had gotten half way through her speech, “you may be a super spy but you’re a terrible liar.”

His arms wrapped around her. “You can tell me anytime, you know that.”

“Clint…” The woman buried her face in Clint’s sweatshirt. He smelled sticky, like sweat and processed sugar. It was disgusting and satisfying at the same time. It pulled at her; begging her to opened her mouth and speak. All the truth unspoken clogged her throat, demanding freedom. Nearly twenty years of silence and they demanded to be heard.

_I could say it. Peter is my son and I want him to be safe._

_I'd do anything to keep him safe._

The thought was terrifying and joyful. For one ridiculous moment, her mind gave her a perfect world: a tiny home tucked away, no city to save or missions to run. Just the man who was her entire world and their son, the best thing either of them had ever give this rotten world. The need for this quiet moment nearly killed her. But it was impossible. She couldn't make a life with Yasha. He was nothing but a corpse. And Peter. He could never think of her as his mother; not when two other women had care for him and loved him for all his life. Her voice cracked as she spoke.

“There’s a way to get him out of this. I just have to do it by myself.”

Clint studied her for a moment. His hand reached around to the computer screen.

“Here, I think this is what you’re looking for.”

He handed the pale white card to her.

“Whatever happens, I’m on your side.”

A gentle kiss on the forehead and he was gone, quiet as the wing of a moth. Nat had to fight the urge to run after him and explain. Instead she pulled out her phone and dialed the number on the card. Three rings later a thick, sleepy voice answered.

“Murdock & Nelson”

“No catchy slogan,” She tested lightly, a wry smile coming to her lips at the rare slip into her natural sarcasm, “Super Lawyers for Super Heroes?”

“Matt’s getting a cup of coffee.” The man responded unprompted. “He’ll be back in a minute.”

Nat pulled back a little and stared at the phone.

“I’ve known since law school.” The man, Nelson, continued to speak, “I accidentally set off one of his not-so-clever homemade chloroform bombs. Thank God for that Kid. He’s stopped me from going blind too.”

“Well, that’s” she paused, searching for the right words, “nice.”

She practically winced at the lame statement. Nelson didn’t seem to care. From the sound of papers rustling, he has set down the phone. She just stood in the room, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. The Tap-Tap-Tap of Murdock cane was an almost blissful relief. The sleepy lawyer picked up the phone to make sure she was still on the line.

“And for the record Miss, Catchy Slogans are for people who ain’t got no game.”

Nat was saved from coming up with a response to that rather unusual statement when Nelson passed off the phone. The line crackled and popped as it changed hands.

“Matthew Murdock, What’s up?”

She cleared the storm clouds from her mind and began.

“How much do you know about family law?”

“Depends,” His voice was muffled by whatever pastry was stuffed in his mouth. “Who is this and what is this about?”

“Is this confidence?”

She couldn’t allow anyone to know. The truth would crush Peter; destroy the beautiful, broken world he’s built himself.

“Normally, the Hear Me Lawyer for I Have Sinned begins after a ten thousand dollar retainer.” The Lawyer pause for a moment, considering, “But for a friend of Peter, I’ll half that.”

Five thousand dollars. It was more than she dreamed of when she was a child. Less than what she made in two weeks now.

“You’ll have it after this call.” She promised, and then set her shoulders.

“It’s SHIELD Special Agent Natasha Romanoff.” When the name failed to spark, recognition she went to the one splashed across every paper in America, “I'm The Black Widow.”

She could hear the chair scrap as Matt sat up straighter, listened more intently.

“Tell me everything.”


	10. Office of Children and Family Services

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew Murdock is on the Case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you how don't know, which is everybody, I have never been in a custody battle so I fudged the details a little.
> 
> By which I mean I pulled most of this out my ass.
> 
> Anyway, remember that italics means main character thoughts, and to have fun and be sure to leave any comments or questions you have.
> 
> ;)

**Office of Children and Family Services - Manhattan, New York**

Matt had been splashing water around in the bathroom for fifteen minutes, stalling, because just across the hall was his worst nightmare. Twenty-Three hours to slap together a case in a field of law he knew next to nothing about against a man who brought the best lawyer money could buy. If it weren’t for the fact his client was a superhero, he would have referred her to a different lawyer. Hell, if it wasn’t Natasha FREAKING Romanov, he would have laughed this case out the window.

His life **had** taken on a certain insanity in the past few months. For some unfathomable reason named Peter, his number had been passed around the hero community and now every other case was anti-mutant discrimination or helping to set up some Heroes for Hire business. But this…

Whether what the Black Widow said was really true or just some half-baked delusion, Peter really stepped in it this time.

A slap of a fist on wood came through the general buzz of noise and Matt concentrated on the direction the argument; Osborn and his lawyer. Normally he would respect Attorney Privilege but he really hated Osborn and his little lawyer too. Someone paced back and forth, Norman probably. Those expensive Italian loafers had such a nice squeak to them. The CEO was breathing heavily, heart pounding. There was something he was hiding and he was covering with anger.

“This is bullshit, Sean.” The voice was a harsh whisper.

“It’s nothing.” Gabriel Sean Campbell, custody lawyer to the rich and sleazy, was so relaxed Matt could hear his muscles going comatose. “There’s no reason for you not to get custody.”

More anger seeped into Norman’s voice. “Matt Murdock has taken bullet proof cases and torn them to shreds over breakfast.”

“Crime cases, Norm, civil suits.” There was laugh in the lawyer’s voice now. “That bat-assed retard doesn’t know shit about family law.”

Matt had to smile at that. Gabe was right and dead wrong too. He might not be an expert in family law but he knew that he had the most important trump card.

There was the tell-tale creak of plastic tennis shoe as Judge Martin Allan made his way to chambers. Time to face the music. Matt made a quick exit and had only just taken his seat when His Honor arrived. He could feel Gabe’s disappointed smirk at his near tardiness.  
Judge Allan settled his ample frame into his chair. Despite the informal setting, he was wearing his robes as a court reporter sat in the corner clicking away on her stenograph, recording everything.

“Gentleman, before we begin I will make myself clear.” Allan had a slight exasperated quality to his voice. “This is not how these things usually play out. Normally when custody of a child is disputed there are months of investigating and affidavits and social workers and psychologists hired by both sides giving conflicting opinions on everyone’s mental stability. However,” He inclined his head to Osborn, “someone has friends in high places and they want this settled today.”

The judge turned to Matt now. “Mister Murdock, since your client was the one to challenge, you get an hour to make a case that Mister Campbell will then precede to destroy.”

The surety that the judge had in Campbell’s skills worried him a little. But the first rule of the court room was Never Let Them See You Sweat. Matt cleared his throat and began.

“Your Honor, I am not a Family Lawyer.” He ignored Campbell’s snort. “But even I know to first rule of Family Law is family first.”

Gabe was smiling at him. “And what family is that? The dead ones or the one over seventy with the heart condition.”

“The one whose claim is above everyone else’s. His birth mother.”

The other lawyer dismissed his statement with a scoff. “His mother’s dead.”

“Mary Parker is dead.” Matt corrected, “A child can have more than one mother.”

Gabe was really confident at this point. “Your Honor, this is ludicrous. There’s no record of Peter being adopted or conceived through IVF.” He turned to Matt. “Mister Murdock has no case to challenge anything. Peter Parker’s birth mother, Mary Parker, died in a small plane crash more than a decade ago.”

You should know. Your client arranged it.

Peter hadn’t told him for sure but his reactions whenever someone brought it up screamed it from the roof tops.

“If you look at the record, Your Honor, you’ll find that there is no record of Mary Parker giving birth.”

He handed a stake of papers to Allan. “Only that the Parkers brought a healthy male baby to a hospital in Warsaw, Poland. There is a copy of the Warsaw police report. Richard and Mary claimed that they delivered him their hotel room. But as you’ll see in the report, the evidence suggested that Mary gave birth several days or weeks before Peter’s own birth. And no one heard her in their hotel and there was no evidence of a birth in their room. But since this was before DNA was readily available and they were foreign nationals, the Warsaw Police decided not to press the issue.”

The other lawyer was pissed now. His jugular was beating a mamba rhythm against his skin. “Then what happened to the Parker’s real child? For that matter, where did they find Peter? In a bread box? Or perhaps their Hotel minibar?”

“According to the information available, Mary suffered a miscarriage about a month before they meet Peter’s birth mother, somewhere in the backcountry without access to a hospital and therefore no record of it.”

“That doesn’t answer my other question.”

“His mother was lower class, practically homeless. She…”

“Gave away her flesh and blood like an old boot.” Campbell cut across him. “How can we trust a woman who tossed her son away to a couple who could have been drug dealers or gangsters?”

“Have you been to Eastern Europe? Not just Kiev and Prague, the real gritty underworld. If he had been raised there, Peter would probably already be dead from drugs or gang activity. Hell he could have been shot by what passes for cops in those countries.”

“Dozens of people have moved past their tragic circumstances every day.” There was a simpering tone in Gabe’s voice now, as if he was explaining the obvious to a dull child. “You, yourself among them.”

Matt snorted at that. It was luck and a class action suit that sent him to law school. “I came out of poverty at the cost of my eye sight. And millions more have stayed in the bone crushing gripe of poverty all their lives. The statistics are clear, if you’re born into poverty there is almost a zero chance of you getting out.”

“And you want to send him back to that bone crushing poverty. Uproot a boy from the only home he’s known and send him to a country where he doesn’t know how to navigate and can’t learn because he doesn’t speak the language.”

“As it turns out, Peter’s mother was one of the lucky ones.” Matt gave the other lawyer a toothy grin. “A windfall came her way and she immigrated several years ago. She’s been naturalized for almost half a decade.”

“Despite it almost being impossible for her to rise above her poor background.” Sarcasm laced Campbell’s words.

It was Matt’s turn to be sarcastic, “Windfalls come often for pretty girls from poor foreign countries.”

“You haven’t even mentioned her name.” Gabe changed gears like a pro, trying to catch him off guard. “Perhaps she’s not the saintly figure you make her out to be. Or perhaps this is all just a ploy by Mrs. Parker to keep custody after she’s been declared unfit.”

_This was getting ridiculous._

“Not likely considering May Parker is still in medically induced coma following her massive stroke. It’s far more likely that his mother concerned by Mister Osborn’s reputation.”

Osborn answered before his lawyer, teeth gnashing furiously. “Reputation?!”

Matt smiled. Osborn’s rage hot face was doing half his work for him; Allan was subtly leaning away from the CEO.

“People who oppose your interests often up in very uncomfortable positions: Dr. John Ohnn, Abner Jenkins, Morris Bench.”

If the pop pop pop was any indication, Norman was literally foaming at the mouth, “Why you, mouthy as…”

Gabe grabbed his client’s arm as Allan held up a hand. “I don’t have such a reputation. So if you have her identity, hand it over.” He tapped the table in front of Matt’s hand.

_Here goes nothing._

He pulled out the separate file and handed it to the Judge. Allan flipped it open and his mouth dropped to the floor. “This is a joke.” He flipped a few more pages reading.

_I wish._

“No, Your Honor. You’ll find the Mother’s affidavits and DNA tests from multiple labs accredited by the NYPD, FBI, and CIA.”

There was more paper rustling as His Honor read and reread the reports. Campbell’s chair was scraping as he tried to catch a glimpse of who his client was up against.

“This is real.” The Judge hid his panic and awe, barely, “Mister Murdock, are you sure the mother wants custody?”

He nodded, “Yes, she was adamant. Despite Mr. Osborne’s numerous accomplishments, she felt that he was unfit to raise her son.”

Meaning, there are things she knows about him that we don’t.

Allan understood. His eyes flicked to Osborn, no doubt concocting several horrifying theories in his head.

“And there’ll be no troubles with her…” He searched for a word, gesturing vaguely “Job.”

“No Sir. For the past six months, she’s mostly been teaching and working from home.”

Judge Allan spent a few more moments flipping through the pages: examining the psych reports, the arrangements with friends, a few studies about the children of Special Forces. An impressive bundle for less than a day’s work. Maybe Matt should join SHIELD; a super spy network could really come in handy.

“Okay.” Allan closed the file and handed it back to him. His heart beat like a shock patient.

“Okay.” He repeated, still not quite believing. “Mister Murdock, I will grant temporary custody to your client. In six months, if this is still an issue, we’ll see how things are.”

There was a scratch of pen on paper as the Judge quickly wrote out his order. His hands were shaking as he handed it to Matt.

Allan rushed form the room before he had even dismissed them. There was a strange thump in his steps as he exited the room, almost antsy and scared. Matt followed after a moment. Osborn was gripping his chair so hard the wood creaked. Gabe was at his side, murmuring stuff about appeals and subpoenas.

He heard the CEO hiss between his teeth. “Shut up you incompetent ass.”

Matt was so intent on getting away from the ticking time bomb in the other room, he practically walked into the Judge. Allan had waited for him outside the conference room. There was no greeting or preamble when he spoke. “Mister Murdock, I don’t know what Peter Parker is involved in but I would look out for him.”

There were notes of true worry in his voice. Not just the concern of periodical. “Do you know him, Sir?”

“He tutors my daughter. Seems like a nice lad.” His tone seemed to imply something, both about his daughter and the situation Peter had found himself in now. “I don’t know what he’s gotten himself into but I’d rather air on the side of caution. SHIELD has a better reputation than Mr. Osborn.”

Matt understood. Allan thought this was some kind of Tom Clancy novel. He thought so too for a while. Now sounds more like a Dan Brown book. Natasha’s story was just too ridiculous to be a cover for something else.

“I’ll look out for him.” He promised.

“Of course,” the judge nodded then added, “Mister Murdock, I don’t have to tell you this conversation never happened.”

Matt nodded furtively at him. Sometimes it was best to play to people’s delusions. This whole case was playing to delusions. The judge seemed satisfied with this. He walked away without another word. Matt could only shake his head as he went to pick up Peter.

* * *

Peter’s case worker, a sunny young woman barely out of college, lead him across the busy room. She had chattered at him the whole way, pointing out every little thing he might trip on and telling him how amazing it was that he was a blind lawyer, making jokes about lady justice. He tuned her out, concentrating on finding his friend slash client’s son. He could feel him laid out across a couch in one of the private rooms.

Her chipper voice was almost grating when they entered her office. “Time to go, Peter.”

Peter groaned as her sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Matt?” There was surprise and hope in his voice. It seemed he hadn’t been expecting this eleventh hour reprieve.

“Come on kid. Your mom’s here to pick you up.”

Matt didn’t need super-senses to tell the kid was downright bewildered. But he didn’t resist when he was tugged out of the office.

The elevator ride was surprisingly quiet. Matt had expected Peter to pepper him with questions as soon as the doors closed. Then again, he had never really seen Peter out of costume. Maybe he had a split personality. The kid hadn’t made a peep until they were outside.

It was a typical New York City almost summer day, the start of real heat and the heavy smell of car exhaust. Peter looked around. “Well?”

As if called by his words, there was a barking purr and the squeal of tire that only came from expensive hi-tech cars. It pulled to a stop in front of the two superheroes. The woman driving rolled down the widows and leaned out.

“Well?” Matt caught a smile in Natasha Romanoff’s voice. “Are you getting in?”

Peter stared between them for a moment. Then his arms came around Matt for a moment, squeezing just tight enough to bruise.

“Thanks.” He pulled back, voice cracking with relief. “Just thanks.”

The car door swung open on oiled hinges and Peter slid in without hesitation. The spy gunned the engine and the two were off. Matt waved them off with a slightly forced smile. He was just glad his part of this cluster was over. If he was ungodly lucky and unplugged his phone for the next week, he might make it through this with his life and practice intact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if I wrote Matt a little wonky. It's hard to write from the perspective of a blind man, especially a blind man with superhuman senses.


	11. SHIELD Triskelion Building/Avenger's Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth, lies and hurt feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is THE moment people. It's not going to be good so any one excepting warm and fuzzies, find another fic.

**SHIELD Triskelion Building**

  
Agents of SHIELD feared nothing. Every single one of them from the field agents to the IT guys had faced down unimaginable horrors of man and gods. Even the old janitor on the basement floor had single handedly destroyed an infestation of genetically engineered, extremely aggressive jelly doughnuts. In the entire roster of SHIELD there was not a single coward.  
That’s not to say that Phil Coulson didn’t have a healthy amount of respect for the temperamental personalities of Super-Humans. He’d been on both sides of Supers’ almost bipolar nature; first stabbed through the chest by an Asgardian war criminal with daddy issues and then used as the rallying point for the Avengers to finally stand together. When it came to defending what they thought of as their own, the Supers were slightly less dangerous than a live nuclear bomb.

  
But only slightly.

Right now he was standing on the razor’s edge of Super love/hate again. After three days of frantic research, he’d come up with absolutely nothing to help the youngest Avenger. From the looks of things, Peter would spend the next two years living with his arch-enemy. And nobody, especially Phil himself, was going to be happy about that.

“There has to be something.” Phil repeated for the thousandth time.

“And I told you there is nothing.” The tech replied. “No criminal record. No lawsuits. No accusations of harassment or copyright infringement. He even pays his taxes.”

Sitwell looked up from his crossword puzzle, almost interested for the first time in hours. “What billionaire pays taxes? He’s got to be hiding something.”

“That’s a convincing argument.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice as Phil glared at the other agent.

Sitwell was right. No one as rich and powerful as Norman Osborn has such a spotlessly clean record unless they were hiding something. He was also being extremely unhelpful. Every one of his “suggestions” were for things like “connecting” Ben Parker’s murder to something worthy of witness protection or shipping Peter to an alternate dimension. Things that were easily connected to SHIELD. That might have worked before New York. Now people would wonder what an agency who dealt with superheroes and aliens would want with a teenage boy from Queens. Sitwell didn’t even seem the least concerned about the whole thing. The agent returned his glare to the harried computer tech.

“Check again.”

The frantic click-click-click of the keyboard replaced talk for a moment. Phil felt his foot tapping of its own will.

“Uh Agent Coulson.” One of the junior agents Phil had sent out had come back. There was a manila envelope in her hands and an expression of absolute terror on her face.

“Remember when you asked me to check on Peter's temporay situation." Her throat bobbled and jumped as she continued. “It’s just. Well. This isn’t good….”

He raised an eyebrow at the stammering agent.

The words fell out of her mouth in a rushed tangle. “Custody of Peter Parker has already been decided.”

Sitwell and the tech sat up so fast Phil swore he heard their spines snap. As for him the news made his muscles freeze. Custody cases took months to put together and decide. Something very bad was happening. Sitwell was the first to recover from the shock.

“Who?”

The Probie glanced at Sitwell wordlessly handed Phil a single sheet of paper.

She was right. This wasn’t good.

* * *

 

**Avenger’s Tower**

This wasn’t good. From the moment he had walk out of the elevator, the six people who single handedly fought off an alien invasion had cowering before him; a man who in all honestly, looked like an accountant. His face must be a terror. But right now he had to focus on what had brought him here. Phil paced back and forth, trying to dispel some of his frantic panic. The Avengers sat around the room; just as nervous, fidgeting with various clothing articles and nick-nacks.

“How did this happen?”

Banner was the only member who was not frantic. Instead he sounded sullen and tired. “How did what happen?”

The agent rounded on the sole female avenger. His voice remained calm but his tone was seeped in burning ice.

“Natasha, please explain how you, a notorious assassin and saboteur, was granted legal custody of a minor you have not relationship with?”  
There were various noises of disbelief from the Avengers, save Natasha and Clint.

Captain Rogers seemed most surprise out of all the Avengers. “You have custody of Peter? Why?”

Natasha made a “we’ll talk later motion” at the super soldier and leveled her fiercest gaze at him.

“Does that matter?”

Classic Romanoff ice queen. She should have known better; Phil hadn’t bought that bullshit for years.

“Agent Romanoff, if you used your SHIELD status without authorization…”

“I didn’t.” Her answer was too quick. She wanted this conversation to be over.

Clint cut across him before Phil could draw his next breathe. “He’s here. He’s safe. Can we just leave it at that?”

“Stop defending her.”

Phil regretted it almost immediately. The words had come out as a grating screech. Natasha flinched away from him for the first time since she had been rescued from the Red Room.

“Son of Coul.” Thor warned the agent.

While the Demi-god acknowledged Romanoff’s skill in battle and considered Phil a friend, he was still quick to jump to the defense of women and children. Phil was sorry but that didn’t change the fact that Natasha had messed up big time. Couldn’t any of them see how much danger they had stirred up?

“Natasha, please.” Phil sat across the redhead and tried to force his voice back to a more normal level. “You’re putting him in danger. Norman was jumping at shadows before the invasion.”

At the mention of Peter in danger, her body curled around itself, trying to shield her from the consequences of her actions. Natasha’s voice was almost apologetic. “Osborn doesn’t know my name.”

Phil sighed and continued to wreck the fragile trust that Romanoff had placed in him. “That’s even worse. Paranoid personalities never take secrets well.”

Clint came to her rescue once again. He wrapped an arm around the spy trying to support her. “Nat, they need to know.”

Phil saw green eyes glared from Clint to him to the other Avengers, looking for a sympathetic face, for a re. No one in the room moved to her

The next three words sounded as soft as kitten’s breathe but Phil swore they were loud enough to shake the world.

“He’s my son.”

Gasps of disbelief and shattering glass sounded around the room. Phil ignored them in favor of watching the spy’s every move. He couldn’t see any trace of deception in her face. There weren’t even any signs of counter measures. There was nothing. It could mean nothing or it could mean everything

“Natasha…”

“It’s true.” She cut him off, “I have the paper work. I’ll prove it. Just please. Please Phil, don’t tell him.”

“You don’t have to.”

Phil spun to see the very teenager they had been discussing standing in the doorway. He had his red and blue Spider-Man suit on. No doubt on his way to his nightly patrol when he had heard.

Peter stared at nothing, his face unreadable. “You really need to work on the insulation.”

Natasha got up slowly, “I never meant for you to find out at all.”

She reached out to the young boy’s hand as if to lead him to a chair. Peter jerked back, avoided her touch.

“Get away from me. You are not my mother.”

Pain flashed across her face as clear and brief as lighting. Her voice was chocked with tears as she once again tried to take his hand. “Peter please”

“I said don’t touch me.” The boy ripped his arm from the spy. He stared at the woman, saying the next words slow and deliberate as if the spy was slow minded.

“You. Are. Not. My. Mother.”

Captain Rogers, ever the voice of reason, spoke now, “Peter, you need to calm down and I am sure Nat will…”

  
“No!” Peter was not in the mood for any of them, even his childhood hero. “I’m not going to listen to this psycho whore!”

Clint leapt at the teenager, fury oozing from every pore.

The young superhero had already proved himself much faster than the archer. Before they could do more than blink he had pulled on his mask and ran for the balcony. The red and blue blur disappeared in an instant. Natasha was there a heartbeat after that pulling on her grapplers. She looked ready to swim through razor blades if she could explain this to Peter.

  
Phil caught her arm before she had gone three steps.

“Let him go.”

He could see her desire to fight him, to run after the boy she saw as he son. But she also saw the hardness in his eyes; the intense driving curiosity of the other Avengers.

“Natasha, before anyone goes off, we need to know; how did this happen?”

The spy stared at them all in turn. Her face was as taut and white as marble, a sure sign that she was her instincts were warring with the orders she had been given. It was little surprise to the agent which one won out.

“How else?” Her green eyes went soft and glassy with unshed tears, voice soft and almost wistful. “With a man.”


	12. Stacey Residence

**The Stacey Residence, Gwen’s Room -**

  
Gwen stared at her computer without seeing it as the beginnings of a frustration headache sent pricking needles along her temples and deep into her eyes. She had been working on this project for days and it had yet to come close to right. The words tripped over each other and tangled into unappealing mess so she closed her laptop with a worrying crack and slammed her head into her desk. Surprisingly, it didn’t make her head feel better. Nothing was going to get done tonight.

A hard tap on her window almost made her jump straight out of her skin. Peter was at her widow in full Red and Blue Spandex.

“Your mom here?” He asked without preamble.

Gwen shook her head, “She and the boys are out on the town.”

Her boyfriend slid into the room as smooth as silk. Even after seeing him fight time and again, she was still awed by the sheer grace and power that was coiled into those compact muscles. His current expression of dull anger and contempt was decidedly less appealing.

Peter glanced around her room, shock melting his glower, “I love the new look.”

Her room had been stripped to the tacks: Posters gone, bookshelves removed, rugs rolled up in the corner. Only her desk and bed remained.

“Mom’s been on a cleaning spree since…” Her throat closed around the words. Just thinking of them made her heart ache. She shook her head and continued with forced humor. “She wants me to scrub every inch with a toothbrush before she’ll put any of it back.”

Peter nodded absently, prowling around with nervous energy. Gwen watched him while he examined several blank spots where picture of them once hung. She shifted in her wheelie chair, growing more and more uncomfortable by the minute.

“What’s wrong?” she asked at last.

He signed, shoulders sagging and arms flopping to his side. “Besides the obvious.”

He dropped to the bed with a heavy thunk.

“Aunt May’s out of the ICU. She’s still gotta stay for couple more weeks.”

“Mr. Stark still covering the bills?”

“Yeah,” There was a laugh in his voice. Peter had lived in a house where his aunt and uncle each worked fifty hour weeks to make ends meet and the clothes sometimes came from Good Will. Now he had a billionaire footing all his bills. “He’s said he’s taking it out of my future pay check.”

She smiled at the joke, weak as it was. Mr. Stark adored the teen genius. The few times she had sat in on their special science club meetings, they had moved together with the precision of a Swiss watch, casually tossing each other tools, textbooks, and solutions to the other’s problems. Stark would buy a dozen hospitals free of charge if it helped Peter out.

“And?” she prompted.

Peter stared back at him, more than a little guilt crossing his face. “And what?”

Gwen arched one golden eyebrow at him. “And you didn’t come to my house at ten o’clock at night to tell me that your aunt moved to a slightly different room and that you’re still living with a billionaire.”

Peter didn’t answer. His lips stretched into a thin angry slash. He stared at her for more than a minute while she fidgeted. Just when she was thinking about getting something for them to drink, his head dropped to his pillow and spoke in a resigned muffle.

“I’m thinking I would have been better off living with the Green Gosborn.”

“Better off with a man who tried to kill you, me and a good portion of the NYPD. Twice.”

His head came up again, his face set in hard grim lines. There was no trace of his usual levity or kindness. The sight made fear hook deep into her spine, pulling her whole being taut as a drum. She had only seen him like this twice and both times had nearly killed her.

* * *

It wasn’t as bad as she had thought. Gwen had imagined Extraterrestrial Terrors of Lovecraftian magnitude or vast conspiracies of psychopathic werewolves controlling the stock market. This was shocking and more than a bit disturbing but it wasn’t likely to end in mutilation or property damage in ten figures.

  
“Natasha Romanoff said she was your biological mother.” She could barely even think the words. The image of The Black Widow with an awkward rounded belly and swollen ankles was simply ridiculous. Like seeing a shark gnawing on a tofu pizza.

“What did you say back?” She fought to keep her voice steady and serious. Peter still acted like this was the end of the world and laughing seemed like a bad idea.

Peter didn’t sit up, his voice muffled by the pillow he had face-planted in. “I said hi, mom, you missed my birthday party but I forgive you. Let’s bake cookies and dish.”

“Seriously?” Knowing him, he might have.

His head shot up at once, “No!” his red faced anger melted as he hesitated over his next words. “I called her a psycho whore.”

“Peter!”

“I couldn’t think of anything else.” His words were sullen and defensive but not really sincere.

Her nose crinkled with disgust. “It sounds like something Kenny Kong would say.”

Peter’s face fell into disgust at the comparison to Manhattan Magnet’s most notorious bigot. He buried his head into her pillow again, running hands through his fluffy hair. “Am I gonna catch hell for this?”

“Of course,” she nodded, ponytail bouncing against her neck. Her voice was light and breezy she continued, “It shall be unending. When you least expect it I shall shame you for this. When we have coffee I shall tell the pretty Barista that you called your mother a whore. I will find a Black Widow fan club and I will announce to the collective body that Peter Parker called Natasha Romanoff a whore. When we’re eighty-six and eating oatmeal at our hover table…”

A muffled laugh came from her bed. “All right. I get it. You’re gonna make my life miserable and I deserve it.”

He pulled up his head up from the pillow. Peter was frowning again. “She is insane.”

She considered him for a moment. Peter could be outrageously stubborn when he wanted to be. “Peter, you realize that if Natasha were crazy enough to latch onto some random teenager as her long lost child, SHIELD might have noticed.”

“She’s a spy.” He argued, “She hides things for a living.”

Her silence spoke volumes to her boyfriend. Anger returned to his voice as he slid off her bed. “Well then how else could she have gotten that stupid idea?”

“You do know what a black widow is, right?”

  
He snorted loudly. “Last time I checked my dad didn’t die til I was six.”

Disgust and laughter mingled in her voice. “That’s not even close to what I meant.”

Brown eyes glared at her, “My parents loved each other.”

“Peter,” pity seeped into her voice against her will, “this is not the kind of thing a six year old could pick up on.”

He continued trying to poke holes in her logic. “Then how did I get to them? Did she mail me to them in a cardboard box?”

She was not gonna roll over because Peter wanted to stay in denial. “This is really the kind of thing you should ask Natasha.”

The glare deepened and his face hardened into a stone mask, “I am not talking to her until I can prove she’s a damn nutjob.”

Gwen paused for a moment, wanting to make her meaning clear. “And if she’s not?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You have to consider the possibility that she might - might” She emphasized the word carefully, “be telling the truth.”

“What?” Every line of his body conveyed outrage and horror. “How can you even consider that?!”

Gwen felt more than a touch of guilt roiled in her stomach. She was probably one of two people Peter had counted on being in his corner. Now she had proved herself to be just someone else tearing his life apart.

_Welcome to the club._

She pulled a little square of glossy paper from her desk drawer and handed to Peter. Just a simple photo, one of hundreds Peter and his Aunt kept around their home. He hadn’t even noticed it was missing.

“I found it when I was look for your phone.”

“My phone?” he grabbed the photo out her hand, “Why were you looking...”

He trailed off while he stared at the photo. It was clear in her mind’s eye. She had stared at it for hours, memorized every detail over and over again.

“I didn’t even notice until you told me that she came to pick you up.”

The moment she realized it, it hit her like a freight train. Two people, young and vibrant, holding each other tightly and brimming with hope and happiness for the future; Richard and Mary Parker at their graduation from Empire State. Two people who had no idea how miserable their lives were about to become.

“You weren’t old enough to tell?”

Peter didn’t answer. He dug into his backpack for a moment and pulled out another photo. She had seen it once or twice. It was also of his parents, just a tad older, standing arm in arm with Nick Fury in some anonymous stretch of desert. His eyes darted over them, studying every detail. Sadness and fear mixed with rage and denial as he looked closer at the people who had raised him. It was most likely the first time he had really seen them.

On the surface, Peter look very much like his parents: Brown hair, Brown eyes, fair skin. But the closer she had looked, the more she saw how different they were. Eyes, nose, lips, chin and cheekbones, Peter had nothing for the Parkers in his face. His body was lean, compact and lose limbed. Mary was pear-shaped and stocky. Richard was as lean as Peter but much shorter and broader in the shoulders. Richard’s hair was light and feathery, closer to blond than Peter’s thick coffee-colored waves and Mary had board straight terra cotta for her hair. When it came down to it, Peter didn’t look a thing like them.

They sat there for a moment. She didn’t want to poke him where he hurt just yet. “You okay?”

“Yes,” he answered flatly “No. I don’t know.” His hands came up to rub his face. “What the hell can we do? I can’t go back to the Tower.”

She brightened a little at this, “Well, there is something we can do right now.”

“Cry?” he said without his usual humor.

“I hacked your parent’s medical records.” She pulled another sheaf of paper out of her desk. “Your mother’s OB has the night shift in a hospital downtown. It should only take about fifteen minutes by cab.”

Peter stared at her, brown eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. A broad smile broke out across his face. “I could kiss you right now.”

She grinned crookedly at him. “You want to go or what?”

“I’ll get my pants.”

* * *

Dr. Rachel Donavan was more of a craft project than a woman: pipe-cleaner limbs, fine lamb’s wool hair, parchment paper skin. The mug of containing the five espressos they had bribed her with looked like it was going to break her fingers. Her other hand waved in a complicated pattern as her high thin voice detailed her experience with the Parkers.

  
“I really don’t know what I can help you with.” She plunked herself down with a surprising thump in her armchair. “I mean I wasn’t even in the same country when you were born. Your mother went into labor while they were vacationing in Warsaw.”

  
“But you did a check up on me when I got back, right?” Peter asked. Gwen could hear all his hopes hanging on his words. With a single sentence, this woman could destroy his whole world.

“Pediatricians do that.” Her words were sickeningly sweet, like she was explaining something to a couple of kids. Which they were. Technically. “OBs jobs are done the minute the baby is born.”

Peter looked ready to yell at her condescending tone. Gwen cut in with the brightest, fakest smile she had, “Still, you checked in on Mrs. Parker. Her file said she was a high risk, a history of miscarriages and infertility and the stress of her vacation.”

Peter glanced sidelong at her. He had only skimmed his mother’s medical records on the ride here. Mostly he just looked out the widow and smiled. Gwen had looked over a dozen times, reviewing every condition and notation. Richard and Mary each had serious conditions, a perfect storm of infertility.

“I don’t presume to know.” Her body was poised too carefully; her voice was just a little too brittle.

Peter burst in at that moment, close to crying. “Please. There’s this crazy woman trying to claim she’s my real mom.”

“That’s…” She stammered and hummed as if she could make the two go away by pretending to talk.

Peter looked ready grab her by the collar of her medical coat and shake the answer out of her. Gwen put her hand on his arm, pressing just a little harder than she had to. Her blue eyes found Dr. Donavan’s watery green ones. She adopted the wide, pleading eyed look that had won her most of her arguments with her father.

“Please?” she said in her quietest, most lost little girl voice.

The doctor stared at her for a moment. Her already weak will was crumbling. Her next words were simple and offhand as if she were discussing the weather.

“The Parker baby was a girl.”

* * *

  
Peter leap over the last five steps of the hospital entrance and landed with less than his usual grace. He hadn’t spoken since Donavon had made her revelation. Anger burned in his eyes and shouted from every line in his body. Gwen came down the steps at a more reasonable rate while Peter glowered at a lamppost. She considered him for a moment.

"Peter” She began but Peter cut her off with a grunt. She repeated his name louder and sterner. “Peter.”

Peter turned on her, fury and pain radiating like a heat wave. “Don’t say it.” He growled.

“It needs to be said.” She answered, acid dripping from her voice. “You need talk to her.”

He hunched his shoulders more, curled around his quickly crumbling life “I can’t.”

His voice was pathetic, a kitten’s whimper. He didn’t want to put the final nail in his fragile reality’s coffin. Gwen stared at him for a moment. There was something familiar about this situation.

“Peter,” she started forcing false calm and confidence into her voice, “You just found out your whole life is a lie. You’re a mess and you need advice.”

She pulled him closer to her. “We’ll figure this out.”

Peter stared at her for a second. He sighed like he didn’t believe her then pulled away. She smiled, sad and tight, at him for a moment. He was sagging under the weight of his new world. What he needed right now was to talk with someone he trusted: not Fury or any of the Avengers. They would take Romanov’s side or tried to play mediator. Want he really needed was someone who had always been in his corner. And considering she just pulled the rug out from his whole world that left only one choice. She climbed onto the curb and flung out her arm for a cab to the North Shore Hospital.

  
Something grabbed her wrist at eighty miles an hour; her foot slammed against a car hood as she left the ground. She heard her bones snap and her shoulder separated her body with a dull pop. Searing pain lanced from her limbs and across her body, sending it into excruciating spasms. Thick cloying smoke burned her eyes and choked her. Blackness swallowed her world from the outside in. Someone was screaming. In her last moments of conciseness, she felt hear a cackling laugh in her ears.


	13. Avengers Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fury wants answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. How it's worth the wait.

**Avenger’s Tower - Penthouse**

Ever since he was a child, Nick Fury could take the meanest, ugliest, freakiest situations in stride. Everything he did, he did with a clear head and his emotions in a full nelson. If someone drew a knife, he broke their fingers. If a supervillain wanted six billion dollars in exchange for not turning the US Cabinet into cheddar cheese, he stuffed the guy in The Vault. So if his best covert operative announced his own Goddamn godson was her long lost love-child, well, he would handle it.

“Agent Romanoff,” the words felt funny even though he’d said them a hundred thousand times.

The redhead cut him off before he had said the third word,

“I don’t want the ‘What the Mother-Fluffing Hell Were You Thinking’ speech right now.”

“Mother-Fluffing?” Stark quipped.

She glared at him. Barton hid a smile. His silence said he wasn't taking sides. His position told him that he had his partner’s back. He stood behind Romanoff’s shoulder like a guardian angel.

“Then what would you like?” Fury ignored his fourth degree migraine as usual. “Maybe the ‘You Put the People You’re Supposed Love in Danger” speech.”

“I did more than you.” Stubbornness was oozing from her pores.

Nick bit down on the caustic comment that popped onto his tongue. This was neither the time nor the place to get into an acid spitting contest. There was already deep ache settling across his neck. He sat with a thump and faced the red-head squarely.

“Start at the beginning.”

Natasha gave him a lope-sided grin. “The beginning?”

He raised his eyebrows and waited. The grin faded.

“Yasha Blokov.”

_THE Yasha Blokov._

Romanoff ignored his bewildered expression. “He was my instructor at the Red Room.”

Banner spoke up now, “What?”

“The Red Room was the USSR’s answer to the SSR and SHIELD.” Phil answered prompt as usual. “They were more oriented to wetworks and espionage than superhumans.”

“Depends on what you mean by superhuman.” Romanoff retorted.

Nick wondered if she was referring to herself or Yasha. Whatever the answer, she didn't look like she wanted to continue.

“You two were a team” Barton prompted, “like us.”

She nodded.

“Love on the battlefield.” Stark cooed over a triple scotch.

“Will you shut up?” Rogers looked like he wanted to vaporize the billionaire.

“Not in a million years.”

Nick resisted the urge to break the mouthy bastard’s face. He knew Stark was trying to lighten the mood but this was just ridiculous. He turned back to Romanoff “And things happened?”

“We spent months on the same missions. There was a lot of time to talk.”

Romanoff was a subtle person. On mission, she wore armor of dazzling smiles, insipid confusion or juvenile arrogance. Outside them, she never laughed or cried. Her face rarely moved at all. But if you knew her well enough, you could see the lines of a smile or the shadow of her rage. Right now there was a mist of unshed tears in her eyes.

“And you two just decided to have a family in the middle of a nest of superhuman communist assassins.”

Nick was going to kill Stark.

Tomorrow.

“And Peter?”

“I didn't want to...” her eyes darted to her stomach.

“Natasha we get that you didn't want to…” Banner waved his hand vaguely.

“Bruce, I know what an abortion is. I had a few before They ripped my womb out.”

Banner and Rodgers winced at the plain and bitter truth. Barton moved like he wanted to comfort her but pulled back. Romanoff simply curled around herself; her voice dropped to the barest whisper.

“I couldn't erase Yasha from the world.

Rogers spoke with a careful voice and gentle eyes. “Maybe you should explain that better.”

She straightened a little. Her voice was louder but still thick and husky.

“When I first met Yasha, he was the perfect soldier; the Red Room’s shining star. Never failed a mission or disobeyed an order. But the more time we spent away, the more he changed.” She held herself closer, like she was trying to hold on to those precious memories. “He started letting witnesses go. Giving candy to children. Sometimes he even made me laugh.”

There was a hint of years unspoken. It was barely anything. It was more than she had said about her time in the Red Room in all her sixteen years at SHIELD.

“One day I woke up and he was crying. He said he remembered a time he wasn't in a soldier or a puppet. That somewhere he had friends and even a family. There were people he loved. He was going to find them and he wanted me to meet them.”

“And you followed him.” Banner

Her smile was loud and sarcastic. “Well I didn't have anything else to do.”

“But your Superiors found out.”

Romanoff’s smile crumbled to dust and she drew in a shuttering breath. “But my Superiors found out. We made it a month. They just showed up in our crappy little apartment.” Her voice cracked a little,

“They took a beautiful soul, tried to twist him into a weapon. And when he wouldn’t let them control him anymore, they made me kill him.” Her jaw clenched so hard he could hear her teeth creaking. “And he let them. He went without a fight so I could have a life. Even in his last act, he still protected me.”

Her anger faded as quickly as it had flared, leaving only ashen sadness.

“I needed proof that Yasha was real.”

Silence reigned and stretched out for long minutes. Nick could see horror, disgust, and shame flash across the Avengers’ faces as they processed what Romanoff had told them. Rogers in particular looked ready to grab his shield and skin those little SOBs alive. He won’t mind joining him. But that came later. Many things needed to be done later.

He kept his voice soft and even. “That explains half the problem.”

Emerald eyes glanced up at him brimming with anger. “You aren't actually suggesting that making sure a minor stays out of an abusive home is a problem.”

“I’m suggesting that one of my agents forgetting that we had a golden opportunity to put one of the largest manufactures of illegal gene modifications in jail for life.”

“Tvoyú mat', Nick, Peter is not an agent. He’s a teenager. There are dozens of other ways to get him without putting a child in danger.”

“Peter is a child that would jump at the chance to put Osborn in jail if I had five Freaking minute to explain it to him. There are protocols for these situations. We don’t take small steps. We wait until we can take the bastards down for good.”

“And if he found out? What would the Protocol do then?”

“Peter is a meta-human. Osborn couldn't hurt him with an assault rifle.” The minute he said them, he knew those were exactly the wrong words.

Romanoff stood so fast her chair knocked Barton off his feet. Her voice lilted higher and louder. “That man is not touching Peter. So help me he is not laying one finger on MY SON while I’m Still BREATHING.”

  
Nick leaned back in his chair. He had never her like this. Romanoff wasn't wearing the mask of a spoiled heiress or mistress. This was genuine, visceral rage. A mother’s rage. Peter Parker was meta-human who could tie a steel girder into a pretzel. He could and did battle enemies that could flatten half the people in this room. The agent in Romanoff probably knew that too. The mother in her ignored that. He held his tongue for a moment while Romanoff glared. When her breathing had slowed, Nick spoke trying to stay soft and calm.

“We don’t know what he’s capable of, Nat. Taking Peter away could be worse than letting him stay.”

Romanoff rolled her eyes, her porcelain mask sliding back into place. “Even if Norman Osborn finds out, there’s nothing he can do. He’s business man.”

“Hey!” Stark yelled from behind the bar.

She rolled straight over him, “A Corrupt, Abusive, and Sadistic asshole but just a Business man. The only way he knows how to hurt people is if they’re half his age or across a desk.”

Nick leaned back in his chair and sighed. He thought about the files: the files, lists and reports. Profiles of a madman. Before he could speak a deep urgent buzz filled the room echoing and multiplying by twos and threes. All around the room their phones read the same thing. One of their own had called for help; only one of their own was not in this room.

“I wish I could believe that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A) No Thor is not in the room or even in the dimension. Fury doesn't count him because he knows where Thor is. Plus there’s no cell service in Asgard. He’ll fill Thor in when he gets back in a week or two.
> 
> B) No SHIELD is not aware that Norman Osborn is the Green Goblin. Fury assumed that Peter was talking about Norman being a murderer in a mastermind sense, ordering crimes rather than committing them. He knows the man is capable of murder, not that he’s already killed people with his own two hands. Peter assumed SHIELD knew everything because it’s just that kind of place


	14. George Washington Bridge

**George Washington Bridge**

Peter’s vison swam as he swung through the urban landscape, narrowing down to a pinprick tunnel surrounded by grey smudges. Only a faded trail of green smoke marked the way. It headed out onto the brown blue plane of the Hudson. Deep inside his chest his heart beat a frantic tattoo against his ribs.

_Gwen. Gwen. Gwen._

If Osborn hurt her, he was dead.

He landed on one of the heavy suspension cables. Osborn circled above. He cackled; shrill as a glass on a chalkboard.

“The Itsy Bitsy Spider comes into MY parlor.”

Peter ignored the nonsensical ramblings. Gwen dangled over the edge of the bridge; her body was limp as a dead fish. Only the occasion twitch told him she was still alive. Fury rose in his chest. It strangled his compassion and forced images of blood into his mind. He wanted to beat Osborn to death.

His world went white.

* * *

Gwen could barely breathe she was in so much pain. Her feet kicked weakly at the air. She wanted to wake up; this was a nightmare. It had to be. Osborn was ranting about spiders and children. Peter was here, was going to save her. Osborn threw something at her. It went whistling over her head. The rope frayed and dropped her a few feet. Peter wasn’t close enough. He was still grappling, Osborn gripping him. She wondered if this was how her father felt. The rope broke with a snap and her stomach flew into her throat. The water rushed up to meet her. At this height she might as well be hitting concrete. She was going to die.

Something cool and heavy wrapped around her body and yanked her up. Natasha Romanoff in her full Black Widow outfit wrapped her arm tighter around her as they swung down to the streets. They landed with a thud that jarred every bruise and bone in her body. Someone yelled something in Russian or Urdu or Klingon. Natasha stuffed her onto a backseat and yelled back at him in the same language. As they drove away, she saw the older woman scaling the tower to where Peter was trying to beat Osborn to death.

* * *

Peter felt a shock rip through his body. He spun to see the Black Widow standing behind him, widow stings out and buzzing. Blood was splattered in long arcs on the gunmetal grey of the bridge. Osborn was lying on the ground; his face was a ruin. He was still breathing. It wouldn’t take much.

“I’m not gonna let you do this.”

Her words were level but her eyes blazed. Agents were descending like black goggle eyed flies. Peter dashed to the still breathing man, desperate for one last blow. Heavy bodies tackled him one than another and another until he was buried. Cuffs wrapped around his wrists and ankles. No matter how hard he kicked or wiggled they wouldn’t come loose. He could see Natasha’s ankles through the legs and arms.

“He is not yours, you son of a bitch.” Her voice was harsh and low.

“He isn’t yours either.”

The sound of Osborn’s voice renewed his rage. Peter struggled against his bonds, desperate to break free and beat Osborn into bloody pieces. Something pricked his throat. Coolness melted into his vein as the world went black.

“She’s safe. She’s perfectly safe.”

They were the last words he heard for a long time.


	15. North Shore University Hospital

Natasha hated hospitals. They smelled like the Room, sharp chemicals and cloying decay mixing with less tangible things, pain and despair. It made her skin crawl. But even this was less painful than staying at the Tower. There were only so many times you could see your son trapped in a screaming nightmare before you wanted to claw out your own eyes. Nat stopped before the door, bracing herself for what was on the other side. This would be one of the hardest things she would ever have to do. She stepped through the door and coughed.

May Parker was packing up the last of her things. She had been a slight woman before. Now she was dangerously thin, skin ashen, her once dark hair pure white. Nothing could hide the tremors in her hands. That didn’t stop her from offering Natasha a brilliant smile. Nat returned it with her bland Federal Professional smile.

“Missus Parker,” she spoke in the neutral tone of middle management “I need to talk you.”

“I should I assume this is about my nephew?”

“Yes, we setup living arrangements through his parents’ estate. If you can come down with me, we can work out the details."

“Oh,” May glance up at her, head tilted, “I thought this was about him being Spider-Man.”

Natasha blinked, “Ma’am?”

The woman paused in her packing, turned to her. Her eyes glittered with humor and gentle reproach.

“Agent Romanoff, you’ve been on every news station for the past six months. Do you honestly think I wouldn't recognize you?”

If Natasha were anyone else, her jaw would have hit the floor. She shifted uncomfortably, kicking the door closed. After a moment’s thought, she pulled off her wig and sunglasses. They didn't do anything anyway. May returned to her packing.

“Most people do.” Natasha commented

“I’ve found that most people are idiots.” May drawled, and then paused, considering, “Including my nephew.”

Nat heartily agreed on both points, “So you knew he was Spider-Man all along.”

It answered more than a few questions. Like why May hadn't called the cops during the Battle of New York. May spoke again in that gentle joking voice.

“There are thing you can hide from people you live with. Red and blue stain on my good linens are not one of them.”

Natasha gave a mock shudder. She had living with Yasha and Clint for months when they were on missions. There were things you just didn’t want to know about people, no matter how much you loved them. Her smile faded as she thought of why she had come here in the first place. Nat chose her next words carefully.

“And you’re not upset?”

“I try not to be upset over things that I can’t change.”

Nat frowned. Peter would walk through burning acid for his aunt. “You could ground him.”

May stiffened. Hard sad light entered her dark eyes.

“Peter is different now. He’s been more confident, more alive than he's been since," she coughed, "Since Rich and Mary disappeared.”

May straightened her things unnecessarily. Unshed tears filmed her eyes. Nat thought about Peter. He had seemed full of energy, pulling up all of the other Avengers. She couldn’t imagine a time when those eyes were dull, when he didn’t joke and smile. Seeing that would be worse than cutting off her own arm. The snap of May’s suitcase broke Nat’s revere. She forced her words to be light, uncaring.

“Besides, I worry more that someone will hold a grudge.” May’s face twisted in disgust, “Criminals can be so hypocritical, I don’t know why.”

Nat nodded. She had been on the receiving end of more than a few threats. The more horrible the crime, the more the criminal seemed to resent the person who stopped them. “No one’s going to do that now that’s Peter is with the Avengers.”

May huffed out a breath, “I hoped he’d have a few years before he actually got into the Program.”

“Initiative.” She corrected automatically, “And you don’t have to worry. He wouldn’t actually join until he’s out of college.”

“SHIELD will pay for it.” She added as an afterthought.

Peter Parker with a doctorate would probably do more good for the world than Spider-Man ever would.

Not that he couldn’t do both.

May’s smile returned, “Which ones?”

Nat shrugged. “Tony is lobbying for MIT though Bruce thinks Empire State would be a better fit.”

Nat was prepared to defer to them on this issue. This one issue.

May nodded, “Where would you send him?”

“Why would you care?” Bruce and Tony were recognized geniuses. Any mother in their right mind would love to hear their opinions. As far as May knew, Nat was just the token girl on the Avengers.

“You’re his mother, too.”

This time, Nat was a little prepared for the shock. The woman sitting beside her had proven that she could see things that weren't ordinary or comfortable. She could have been a top rate analyst. If Nat ever found the person who had let May Parker slip away from SHIELD, they were in for a royal ass kicking.

“Your expressions.” May clarified, “The minute I saw you glaring at the reporter, I knew. Anyone with eyes could see that.”

 

Not anyone, Nat thought, “You knew they didn’t give birth to him.”

Pain flared in May’s eyes. “I also knew what starting a family meant to them.”

May pressed a hand over her stomach. There was an echo of pain written across her face. Something old and deep that was decades old and still hurt like an open wound. Natasha felt an echo in her. She understood the bottomless pit that was left when your dreams disintegrated.

The other woman took her hand in both of hers, “He’s such a good boy.”

“I know.” Nat barely chocked the words out.

The two women stayed that way, savoring the warm comfort that only came sharing a pain without words.

“Come on.” The other woman pulled Nat to her feet. “You and I have lots to discuss and I need something that doesn’t taste like baby food.”

Natasha allowed herself to be led out of the room. May chattered about this and that, whether she wanted Italian or Chinese. A smile tugged on the spy’s lips. This meeting had been a complete surprise. But for once in her very long career, Natasha found she like it.


	16. Parker-Romanoff Family Floor

Peter balanced on the balcony railing and stared out at the sea of city lights. It had been two weeks since the bridge; it felt like eight years. It was overwhelming to say the least. He and Aunt May moved into the Avenger’s Tower; they had a whole floor to themselves with all luxuries that Tony Stark could afford. And when overwhelmed the two Parkers fell back one what they did best. Peter brooded and Aunt May cooked. Lucky for his waistline she had a whole team of hyper metabolic superhumans to feed.

Inside the apartment, dishes clattered and the other Avengers shouted and laughed. The smell of rich stew and homemade bread were wafting through the door. It was the kind of overbearing chaos that he always wanted in his family. He didn’t want to go in. Aunt May had made a near full recovery and had accepted him as Spider-Man more than he ever hoped. She was happy. The other Avengers were happy.

Things were great.

It was hard to be around all that when you felt like someone had ripped out your guts.

Soft footsteps came up behind him on the balcony.

“Dinner’s ready”

Nat stood just outside the door. Other than the metric ton of paperwork she’d helped him with, she avoided him. And he avoided her right back. There was a thousand ton weight hanging over their heads and neither of them wanted to be the one to start poking it.

“Yeah.” He answered.

He didn’t look at her. She didn’t move or say anything, just waited for him. Rocks were dropping into his stomach one by one. He didn’t want to do this. But Nat only wanted to help. The letter had been in his pocket for twelve days, fourteen hours and thirty-six minutes. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Nat skimming the contents. He knew every single one by heart.

_Peter,_

_I know this is probably the worst way I could tell you this. You’ll read this over and over for days. Every time you see this, it will cut you open again. Years from now, you’ll still wonder if you could have been better, more understanding, more involved. All I can say is the truth: It’s not you._

_I love everything about you, Peter. You are the greatest man I could ever met. There is no one, not even Captain America, with your strength and bravery. Only you can make my head spin with just a few sentences. You made me feel safe and happy when my world was falling apart. Even when you were being torn apart inside, you didn’t let it slow you done. You held yourself together. Just because people needed you. If it were just you, I could honestly imagine spending the rest of my life by your side._

  
_It’s not just you. There will always be that other side, your other side. When I see what you do, the lives you save, I should feel proud of what you do. But I can only think of my mother. My mother, who would stay home, make us our lunch, and kept the home fires burning. She would stare into space, beautiful eyes dull. Lock herself in the bathroom just to cry. The strong, beautiful woman who broke when That Day came; when she found out the man she loved won’t be coming home again. I can’t be that woman Peter. I can’t sit at home and wait for the day if you move one moment too slow._

_My family is moving. I won’t tell you where. I will never love anyone the way I love you Peter. Know that._

_Gwen_

He heard the letter close when she finished, “I loved her.”

He still did; he would probably always. Nat came up to his side. She leaned against the railing; her face was that blank pale expression it always was.

“That’s not enough.”

It was a simple sentence but it devastated him. Peter wanted to kick himself. He wanted to break the world and tear his hair out. He wanted Gwen back. 

“Did you lose him?” The words almost choked him.

It was the first question he’d asked about him. His father. The words sounded strange even in his head.

“Yes.”

He waited for anything else before saying what he really wanted to know. “You still love him?”

_Did you ever?_ He wanted to ask. There were a hundred ways it could have happen. ninety-nine were not good. Nat smiled gently at him.

“Always.” There was something on her face, in her cool green eyes; a maelstrom of pain, worry, joy, hope. “It’s a hard life. You have to really want it.”

He turned his back to her. “I don’t want this.” he grumbled.

"Neither did I.” Nat stated.

Peter turned back to her. His mouth twisted into a half-smile. “But you do now?”

“Yes and No” She shrugged, her tone growing disgusted, “I didn’t grow up wanting to fight insane gods….”

“But…” he pressed

She thought about it, head tilting.

“But I love the costume.”

Peter stared at her. It was a joke, a lame ass joke. Nat glanced back at the door and grinned.

"Don't tell the others I'm not a robot." She whispered, "They might freak out."

_This woman is just like me._

The thought hit Peter like a ton of bricks. There was something comforting in that. Nat’s smile softened. One of her small pale hands covered his and squeezed. After a moment’s hesitation, he squeezed back.

“Either get inside or I'm eating your share of dinner.”

Peter loved Mr. Stark with the fire of a thousand rabid fangirls but there was no doubt he could really kill a mood. Nat rolled her eyes and gestured to the dining room. The Avengers were seated around the large

table, conversations flowing around them. Peter sat next to Nat and Aunt May. Warmth settled into his stomach as the men and women around him argued and laughed. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and Gentlemen, and Variations Thereupon, it's been a long trek but we're finally here. The end. This was my first multi-chapter fic and I learned a lot from it and from you, my fans. I can't express how grateful I am that you stayed with this story. Thank You All.


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